Graced of Aslan
by Feste the Fool
Summary: There were four more children who knew of Narnia but never actually went there; four who knew Aslan as a lion. Their lives were changed forever when they met the Pevensies, the legends who would eventually become their best friends...and life's partners.
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: Yes, I am C.S. Lewis. I am also a pathological liar. Which would you care to believe? :P**

**Rating: Will start out as a K, but might head up to a T for a couple of chapters that describe violent/dangerous circumstances. Like frozen rivers cracking, arms getting broken, car accidents, battles, and borderline depression.  
Summary: The Pevensie children find love on earth. **

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There had been no true love for the Pevensies in Narnia, no wondrous passion, no spark of connection, no fairy tale come true. It was as it should be, for their loves would only be left behind, and that is a memory too painful for even these four remarkable children to bear on their own. Besides, the Golden Age was not when their life's partners were necessary. Then, they had each other, and each other was all they needed. It was only after they returned to England for good did they discover what they had been missing.

For indeed, something was missing, from each of them. Their titles were grand, yes, but incomplete.

Magnificence was grand and noble and chivalrous and impressive and everything that a knight and king should be, but it was also proud, fool hardy, cocky, dangerous, lavishly, heedless, and short-sighted.

Gentleness was strong, kind, honorable, docile, and calm. Even this was not enough, as gentleness was too soft, too blind, and too delicate to be of much use in a world where gentle means obedient.

Justice was righteous, level-headed, keen, quick-witted, and clever with words. If Justice were not careful, however, it was swift to become cruelty, rage, betrayal, vengeance, and hurt.

And Valiance was gallant and lovely and invincible, despite the fact that its invincibility made it grossly stubborn even when wrong, its loveliness made it naive, and its gallantry made it blind to short comings.

They each needed something else entirely.

Magnificence, tempered with Wisdom, is both noble and loving, chivalrous and humble. An excellent mixture of child-like brashness and world-weary insight provides no room for flaw.

Gentleness needs a special kind of Wickedness that is playful and brilliantly bright, not sinful, to strengthen a soft heart and reveal what is hidden from honor.

Justice, when joined by Mercy, is both righteous and fair. Justice cannot become cruelty when it is fraught with grace as a guide.

And Valiance, mixed with Reason, could tame any wild thing and accomplish miracles, if they wanted, all invincibility cast aside and all gallantry deepened with brilliance.

Wisdom, Wickedness, Mercy, and Reason.

Each attribute came in the form of a girl or boy. A set of four who, much like the Pevensies, were very unprepared for their tasks.

Each child, Graced by Aslan with something deeper than the knowledge of Narnia itself, slowly found comfort in each other.

And each child had a hand in rescuing the Pevensies from their greatest enemy.

Themselves.

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_Also, just in case that disclaimer could get me into real, live trouble_, _I am neither Mr. Lewis nor a pathological liar. Unless being a chronic storyteller counts._


	2. The First Grace

**For Disclaimer and information, see the first chapter. **

**A/N: Keep in mind that the Graced universe is set in a combination of movie and book worlds, so themes from both will be used. Also, it never says how old the Pevensies are. When I read the books, I kind of got a feeling of how old they were, and that's what I'm going by. In LWW, Lucy was 8, Edmund was 10, Susan was 12, and Peter was 13. VDT takes place about four years after that. **

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It all started two weeks after Lucy and Edmund returned from the voyage. The holidays had ended and the Penvensie children had readied themselves for the dreaded return to boarding school.

Peter insisted on sticking with the younger children like glue-he took them out to eat before arriving at the train station and now wouldn't let them out of his sight. Edmund thought he was just spoiling them. Lucy suspected he had ulterior motives. Yes, he loved his siblings dearly, yes he had missed them. But it was also true that the sweet scent of Narnia had not yet faded from them and standing close was as good as breathing wild Narnian air. The eleven-year-old girl smiled as Peter put his arm around her shoulders and tried to subtly take a deep breath of the air above her head. Edmund, standing in front them, poked Lucy and made a face at her, glancing pointedly at their older brother. She nodded and giggled. There had been a trace of grief in Edmund's eyes, and Lucy was glad to see it vanish at the sound of her laugh.

Peter caught their secret communications and blinked, confused. "What?" he asked as Edmund smiled wryly and Lucy laughed outright.

"You can go ahead and just sniff Lucy's hair, Pete. It would be less conspicuous than what you're trying to do now."

"Ah, stow it." Peter made a half-hearted attempt to ruffle Edmund's hair. When Edmund dodged, the older Pevensie overbalanced and nearly fell into the couple front of them.

"Would you three please grow up?" Susan hissed from behind.

Peter and Edmund grew immediately grim. "Oh, come on, Su," Lucy pouted, ignoring the boys. "We were only having a bit of fun. It is still holiday, you know."

"The train will be here soon and you're making a scene," Susan argued.

Lucy opened her mouth to issue a sharp retort, but Peter stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "All right, Susan. No more games. Let's get out of this crowd and find some chairs, shall we?"

Lucy grinned and leaned into Peter's arem as they stepped away. Edmund shot Susan a cold, disapproving glare and followed them. Susan just shook her head and trailed behind. There were four empty chairs against the wall nearby. Susan took an end seat. Peter took one of the middle seats, carefully seating Edmund the end and Lucy on the other, between him and Susan. Lucy giggled again as he took another deep breath. Edmund looked deeply amused and opened his mouth to speak.

Peter whipped his head toward his brother. "Don't you say a word," he muttered warningly. Edmund's amusement deepened-until he caught the desperate, hopeless, almost feverish look in Peter's eye. The younger Pevensie paled and closed his mouth, swallowing heavily. Peter hadn't been feeling well for most of the holiday. Edmund had assumed it was nerves and exhaustion from all the studying he'd been doing, but had retained a sneaking suspicion that it was just Sorrow, what they called it when one of them missed Narnia. Now, Edmund was sure of it.

He could see it in the High King's eyes. It wasn't the usual longing Peter was feeling. It was a burning, rolling pain, coupled with something else Edmund didn't quite recognize that he knew had come from Susan. She and Peter had had a slightly heated argument upon her return from America. Whatever she said must have shaken Peter hard and deeply. This scared Edmund. Peter, as his name suggested, was a rock. He didn't shake easily.

Peter ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I'm sorry, Ed. I shouldn't have snapped at you. Forgive me?"

"Already done," Edmund mumbled, waving his hand as if to push the words aside. In truth, he was wafting the scent of Narnia under his brother's nose. Peter took another deep breath and gave a little sigh of contentment. This worried Edmund all the more.

The Magnificent King needed help, fast, and Edmund wasn't sure that he or even Lucy would have enough to give. He considered alerting Lucy of Peter's pain, but decided against it. Chance are she already knew, and if she didn't, it would only make her worry. I've got to think of something, Edmund thought furiously, Or we might lose Peter the same way we've lost Susan!

Lucy wasn't paying even the slightest bit of attention to the two boys, for something had caught her eyes at the newsstand across the tracks. It was some kind of unidentifiable, bright, almost shint object, but it seemed to vanish whenever she tried to look directly at it. While Peter suffered, Susan read, and Edmund worried, Lucy jerked her head about, trying to see what exactly the whatever-it-was was.

"Quit fidgeting, Lucy," Sisan whispered. "You act as if you had fleas!"

"Sorry, Su," the girl said apologetically, glancing briefly at her sister and watching the newsstand out of the corner of her eye. "I guess I just-"

She gasped; this time the thing stayed visible. Lucy immediately went completely still, staring straight at it. Her heart sped up and her breath caught in surprise. She reached out and patted Susan's arm. "S-s-susan, Susan-"

"What is it, Lucy? You'd think you were three years old!"

"Don't you see it? Look there, across the track, by the newsstand. You see?"

"See what? There's the stand itself, a man, another man, an old woman, a young couple, and a large group of girls in our uniforms," Susan said crossly. "If you're trying to play a game, I'm afraid I just down't get it. Now can you please try to leave me alone?" She turned back to her book in a huff.

Lucy turned, wide-eyed, toward Peter instead, never once letting the glow completely leave her sight. "Peter, Peter, Peter! Look!" she gasped, barely able to contain her excitement.

"What is it, Lu?" he asked wearily, turning away from Edmund after their tense conversation. She knew he was hurting, but was glad he was involved enough to at least try to sound interested in what she was saying.

"Can you see it, Peter? Please tell me I'm not the only one."

"See what?" Peter insisted.

"There, over by the newsstand," she repeated, jerking her head in the general direction of the glow.

Peter glanced up. "I'm afraid I don't-by the Lion! Edmund! Edmund, look up!"

"It's really there, right?" asked Lucy, bouncing in her seat. "Not just a glare from the lighting or something?"

"What's really there-Aslan's Mane!" Edmund said, looking to see what all the fuss was about.

"You see it too?" Peter asked hoarsely. The entire newsstand was glowing faintly now with a lovely golden aura that perfectly matched the color of a Narnian summer sunset.

"Which one do you think it is?" Lucy whispered, staring at the people around the newsstand.

"Not sure," her oldest brother answered again, sounding as if his voice had fled altogether.

"I think it's either that bloke with the top hat or the girl Susan's age, dark brown hair," Edmund said, craning his neck to see through the crowd.

"Not the blonde one?" Lucy asked. "It could be the blonde one, with the ribbon. Peter?"

"I don't know. You can't tell until they turn this way."

"Are you three spying on those girls?" Susan asked, disgust dripping from her voice.

"No, Su. One of them's Narnian, or close to it," Lucy explained. "Look, Ed, the man in the top hat is leaving. It's not him."

"Still going on with that? Honestly, I-Oh, wait. There's Heather and Hannah. I'll meet you on the train, all right, Lucy?" Susan left without another word, but her siblings weren't listening in the first place.

"Look, it's moving!" Edmund said breathlessly. The golden light slowly shifted and, almost unnoticed by the Pevensies, a tall young lady Susan or Peter's age separated from the crowd. She had honey-colored hair and slightly amber colored skin. She was thumbing through a magazine.

"Look!" Edmund said as the glow followed her. "It must be her!"

"Oh Aslan," Lucy whispered.

The girl looked up at the sound of a sharp whistle, making sure the train had not yet arrived. She sarted to look down again, then did a double take. She froze as she stared at the Pevensies across the track. The three siblings held their breath as she put the magazine back on the newsstand and started taking hesitant, deliberate steps towards them. She crossed the tracks and stopped about a foot or so away, looking just as shocked as they felt. The silence was only broken when Peter drew in a shuddering breath and whispered "By the Lion..."

"You're the Pevensies," the girl said in a light, awed voice. It was not a question, nor did it contain a single shred of doubt. "I don't believe it. I thought I'd never meet you-that you didn't exist-but here-now-"

"You've been there?' Lucy asked anxiously.

"...No," she said, smiling sadly. "I have never had that honor. But I have seen it."

"Seen it?" Edmund repeated, hardly daring the believe it.

"In my dreams, almost every night. The land, the stories-"

"You've dreamd of us," Peter said, his eyes growing brighter.

"Yes." She curtsied as best she could. "High King Peter."

"Sit with us!" Lucy said, moving down to Susan's abandoned chair and patting the one she had left. "Tell us everything you know!"

"A story for a story," Edmund insisted, leaning forward to look at her as she took her seat.

"That's fair," she said with a bright smile. "But we don't have time for any stories. The train will be here in just a couple of minutes."

"Then tell us about yourself," said Peter animatedly. Edmund noted happily that he finally looked alive again. Seeing someone else who knew about Narnia had apparently been what he needed: to know they were not alone. Edmund sent up a prayer at the girl's timely arrival as Peter continued, "Tell us everything. We've never met anyone like you before."

She grinned again. "I've never met anyone like you either! My name is Aminda Carlton, Formally of Kent. My parents moved to the London district, and naturally, I had to go with them. We live in Finchley now."

"We live in Finchley!" Lucy exclaimed.

"This keeps getting better and better! Friends call me Minda. I'm sixteen, I've never been this boarding school before and I'm nervous. I've been having visions of Narnia sent by Aslan for three years now."

Peter frowned, about to ask if she was sure the visions were coming from Aslan. His question was answered as soon as he had thought of it, however, as he caught a whiff of Minda's hair. She smelled of Aslan's mane. Not of Narnia. Just Aslan. He smiled softly. It was the date that got Edmund's attention. Three years ago would have been about the same time that they returned the second time.

Lucy was simply overjoyed at the presence of another friend of Narnia, and a little more concerned with the present. "Could you tell us about Narnia now? Narnia's present time? Has Caspian returned to Narnia yet?"

"Slow down, oh Valiant one," Minda said with a laugh. "Those are stories. I'll tell you what. I'll sit with you on the train and tell you everything."

"Really?" Lucy asked, eyes shining.

"What about us?" asked Peter, faking affront. "Edmund and I want to know the stories, too."

"She can write to you," his little sister supplied, sticking her tongue out at him. "I'll give her the address."

"And I can tell you everything today," she said. "That is, if it's all right with your sister. Say...where is Susan, anyway?"

The boys' faces grew dark as Lucy sighed. "She's talking to her friends. She doesn't seem to be much interested in Narnia lately. We're trying to fix that."

"I see," said their new friend, noting the change in Peter and Edmund with suspicion.

Just then, the train whistle blew and Susan herself ran up to the small group. "The train's here," she said needlessly. "I'm going to sit with Hannah and Heather and Wendy. I'm sorry, Lucy. I'll meet you at school, all right?"

"Wendy?" Edmund asked, eyebrow raised, as Susan ran off again.

"Must be a new little friend," Lucy said with a small shrug. "That settles the matter, anyway."

"I'm going to go get my luggage," Minda said. "You three go ahead and say your goodbyes." She crossed the tracks in a hurry, leaving the Pevensies alone. Lucy stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Edmund's waist. Edmund, flushing a little, knelt and hugged her back, kissing her forehead. "Goodbye, Lu," he said softly.

"I'll see you soon, Ed," she whispered back, returning his kiss before releasing him and turning to Peter. Reaching up as far as she could, she hugged his neck. He knelt as Edmund had. She started talking before he could say anything. "Minda drove the shadows from your eyes," she said with a smile. "I'm glad. You should be glad too, because if I had seen them for much longer, drastic measures would have been taken. If I ever see them again, they will be taken immediately."

Peter sighed. "Thanks, Lucy."

"Oh, and don't worry about Susan. Her time's coming."

He kissed the top of her head, smiling into her hair. "Do you have any idea how much we need you?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Love you, Peter. See you soon."

"Not soon enough," he answered and stood as Minda returned. She was shaking Edmund's hand.

"You must come and see us next holiday," Edmund insisted, nodding eagerly.

"I'll make sure of it," she said, turning to Peter. He held his hand out and she took it a little hesitantly. "It was...wonderful to meet you, Peter. All of you."

"And it was marvelous beyond words to meet you, Aminda Carlton," the High King said with a smile. "Don't forget to write."

"I won't," she said brightly. "Come on, then, Lucy, before all the good seats are taken!"

Laughing, the two girls ran off.

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**On my way to the first choir concert of Contest Season, so I don't have time to awknowledge my reviewers. You guys know who you are and you are all awesome. Wish me luck!**


	3. All Aboard

**For Disclaimer and Information, see the first chapter. **

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The girl's train rolled away. Edmund and Peter looked at each other, Peter in wonder and excitement and Edmund in a mixture of happiness and worry. "Can you believe this, Ed?" Peter asked, breaking into an easy laugh. "Aslan be praised, He probably sent her to us Himself! Do you think there are any others who have been graced as she has?"

"Who knows?" Edmund said, smile quickly falling off his face. He leaned closer to his brother and muttered vehemently into his ear. "From now on, Peter Pevensie, you'd better tell me when the sorrow gets that bad, or you'll have more than just Lucy's drastic measures to deal with. Do you understand me?" He grabbed his brother's arm and squeezed hard enough to leave a bruise.

"Oh, Ed! I'm sorry, all right?"

"No, it's not," he hissed. "I'm serious. Do you have any idea just how worried I was when I saw what was wrong? You're not the only one who's lost a sister, did you ever think of that? Did you ever think that maybe Lucy and I are the only ones who have anything else to worry about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Pete, if ever Lucy and I were to lose faith, we would not do it two weeks after seeing Aslan and returning from Narnia. We worry about you. If we can lose Susan, anything can happen. You scared me today because I thought I was losing you. Do you understand now? Do you remember how you felt after Belraid?"

The Battle of Belraid, the start of the single worst week in all of the Pevensies' lives. Except for Edmund, who couldn't remember anything at all. Peter, however, understood the reference, going pale instantly. "Oh, Ed," he whispered, eyes widening and shining with tears. "I'm so sorry. So, so sorry."

"Just remember to talk to me. That's what I'm here for. Always." He briefly rested his head on his brother's shoulder.

Both boys fell silent and contemplative. Another train arrived at the station, and boys wearing the same uniforms as the Pevensies began rising from their chairs. "Heads up," Edmund said to Peter, who had his eyes closed. "Time to be school children again instead of kings."

"You're always a king, Ed," Peter said, grabbing his trunk with his eyes still closed.

"And you're always Magnificent. That conversation isn't over yet."

Peter's eyes suddenly snapped open. "Edmund," he breathed. "You don't think housing arrangements may have been changed, do you? We were lucky at the beginning of this year. What if we have a roommate now?"

"Or if administration decided I'm too big to need my big brother anymore?" the younger boy said with a twisted smile. "I don't know. We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

The Kings of Narnia boarded the train, first stopping at the long table in the front car to get their schedules. After standing in line for what seemed like hours, they took their respective envelopes and began looking for an empty compartment. They found one and opened the door, but a familiar voice stopped them before they could enter.

"Hey-hey, Pevensies!"

They both whirled around, grinning broadly. "Roger!" Peter called, grabbing Edmund and running into Roger's open compartment. After returning to Narnia the second time, they had found a good, loyal friend in Roger Young. He was different than the other boys: wild, but containable; proud, but not haughty; mischievous to a fault and sometimes cruel, but never unfair. He'd showed Peter how to love life when the loss of Narnia threatened to swallow him whole, and he'd unintentionally taught Edmund how to behave in England.

Not that Roger ever behaved normally.

"We've missed you, Rog," Peter said, breaking open his schedule.

Edmund frowned as he looked at their friend. Something was wrong. Roger's movements were less fluid than they had been the last three years, and he was pale. "Are you all right?"

"I"m fine, worry wort. Just travel sick is all. How was your holiday?"

Peter scoffed. "What holiday? I was so nervous about the exams, I think I studied more than I breathed!"

"I know what you mean! How about you, Ed?"

"Oh, it was..." he struggled to find the words. "Interesting. I...did some sailing."

"Really? Where?"

"Um...North Sea."

"Good sailing there."

"Oh yes. Very good sailing."

"Ed!" Peter snapped. "Are you going to open that envelope or not?"

Edmund rolled his eyes and tore it open, quickly scanning the pages inside. "Three twenty-nine, Pete."

Peter relaxed. "That's my room."

"Three twenty-nine?" Roger said, digging through his pockets. "Hang on...there it is... well what do you know! Looks like we're rooming together, Pevensies!'

"Really?" said Peter, taking Roger's schedule and shooting Edmund a look of happiness and disappointment. "That's great, Roger. We're glad to have you with us."

Roger turned doward him, giving him an obscure, vaguely sympathetic look. "Would you two rather take the room for your own? I can still change out-"

"Roger," said Edmund firmly, sounding much older than he was. "Stay. It will give me less reason to kill Peter if I know there will be a witness." He was only half-joking.

Roger laughed outright. "Figured you two might need some room for brother things. Not that I would know, only child that I am. This year is going to be the greatest, if last year counts for anything. Fountain pen sword fights, wrestling matches on the front lawn, study groups that hold out to the small hours of the morning, organized food fights among the lower classes-"

"Hey, hey," Peter protested.

"Wait one second," Edmund said at the same time.

"That last one, that was all you."

"We had no part in that, thank you very much."

Roger grinned wickedly. "Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention. I guess you should know, I snore. Loud and bad. Actually, that might be why I'm rooming with you two now... my roommate was kind of complaining those last couple of weeks before break..."

The Pevensies froze and looked at each other with something akin to dread at the mention of nighttime vices, both thinking back to the past year. Midnight discussions on Narnia, reassurances of Aslan, reminicences, future plans of secret good deeds, arguments of sorrow, terrible nightmares that still came several times a week...what could they say about all that?

"Um..." Peter said awkwardly. "Are you a light sleeper?"

"Eh, somewhat," Roger said with a shrug.

"Pete and I are both notorious night owls and light sleepers," Edmund said slowly. "We don't usually get to sleep until one or two in the morning."

"We also sneak out a lot," Peter said with a small grin.

"No way? The two goody-goods, best boys in the school, pride of the town...sneaking out?" Roger's eyes glittered dangerously, and the Pevensies didn't like the grin on his face. "What on earth do you do?"

They exchanged glances again. Peter's look said honesty, so Edmund started. "That fountain pen sword fight last year was only a child's game. We...fence. Learned how about three years ago. We have some equipment buried in the countryside about half a mile from the school, and we sneak out to practice."

"Fencing?" said Roger, brightening even further. "Will you never cease to surprise! Can I watch?"

"You'd have to ask Ed. He's the shy one."

"Edmund?"

He grinned. "Why not? It's been a long time since we had an audience."

"I do hope you're not too light of a sleeper," Peter said again. "We have a tendency to be loud."

"Just so long as you aren't screaming bloody murder, we should be all right," Roger said with a chuckle.

Edmund and Peter stayed silent. When the nightmares started again, "screaming bloody murder" was exactly what they would be doing.

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"So Minda," Lucy said, grinning. "What have you seen recently?"

Minda smiled back at her. "I can't tell you much, because I don't know much. Caspian has returned to Cair Paravel. I think he's getting married, too, if he hasn't already."

"Married!" Lucy squealed. "To whom?"

"A star's daughter; I haven't heard any names yet. It's been a couple of weeks since then, as best I can tell. I could be wrong. Time is so out of line there, he could have children by now."

"Children!" she laughed and clapped her hands at the thought.

"It's only a possibility," said her new-found friend, although she was unable to contain a laugh in return. "I only rarely see the royal family. I usually only glimpse life in Narnia in general. The past, the people-"

"But that's what I like best. It's past and people. Dancing with the fauns and dryads, swimming in the river with the Beavers, running with the good wolves across the fields by the stone table, talking with the centaurs, flying with the griffons, if the deign to carry you...Narnia is life-"

"-Embodied in a land, flowing through a river, captured in a throne," Aminda finished for her, leaning back into the seat with a sigh of contentment.

Lucy flushed. "You have read the ode," she said quietly.

"I've read several Odes, when the book is open," she admitted. "Who wrote that particular one?"

"Life? I think Peter did, on a day he was feeling sentimental. He must have been nineteen or twenty."

A sly smile crept across Minda's features. "Your brother surprises and interests me, Lucy. I have not seen as much of him in every day life as I have the rest of you...he did not strike me as sentimental."

Lucy snorted. "Peter's second most sentimental of all of us. Edmund's first, but neither of them will admit it. They'd swear up and down that I was the worst, but you mustn't believe them."

"From what I've seen, you are sentiment itself, Lucy!" she answered with a chuckle.

The girl blushed deep crimson and it was several minutes before she asked another question. "So what exactly have you seen of us?"

"Enough to feel as if I've known you my whole life," she said. "I never have the same dream twice, so I write every one down, no matter how short or painful. I have almost nine thick journals full of them. At least three, maybe four, are visions devoted to either you or your Golden Age. I don't have many stories, though. Most of what I see are...instances, glimpses."

"Like what?"

"Like...last week I had a dream about a group of sparrows having a tea party. I didn't get to see the whole thing, and I probably couldn't tell you exact names, but I did see it as if I were there. Just a few days ago I saw a story, but only part of it. Edmund was there, but I think he was maybe seventeen. There was a centaur and a leopard and a rabbit-"

"Sounds like his private tutors," Lucy supplied.

"Yes, and they were about to explore some kind of cave."

"I remember that! I wasn't there, but I remember Edmund telling me about it. You'll have to ask him, later. I'm sure he remembers better than I do."

"I'll be sure and do that," said Minda, glancing at the window. "You know, I was really worried about this school, but now things are really looking up."

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**I was stunned by the reviews I got for the last chapter. You people make my day, every day. LucyofNarnia, Mystic Lover of the fairytale, Narnian Princess, Hikari, and Rachel, thank you so, so much. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as the last one. Also, I'm running on outlines alone now, and contest week is coming. It might be a little while before the next chapter is done. **


	4. The Second Grace

**For Disclaimer and Information, see the first chapter.**

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"Heads up," Roger called five days later, coming into the dorm and stopping short at the sight of his roommates. They were currently involved in the most dangerous wrestling match he'd ever seen. Edmund already had a bruise forming on his left cheekbone and Peter's right arm had a rather distorted angle to it. He raised an eyebrow. "I take it Edmund's winning?" he asked, gesturing at the headlock the younger Pevensie currently had his brother trapped in. Peter was quickly turning purple.

The two blushed and distangled themselves. Edmund let one hand rest on Peter's shoulder while the boy fought to catch his breath. "What's up, Rog?" he asked.

"Letters came for you again," he answered, holding forth his bundle of envelopes. "Did I interrupt something, or were you being serious on the train when you said you would kill him without witnesses?"

"Peter and I had a disagreement," said the younger king, standing and reaching out to take the letters. He frowned in concern as the other boy's eyes went completely unfocused for a moment. "Rog? You all right?"

"Yeah, fine," said Roger, stuffing the letters into his hands. "So what's the deal with all the mail? Most people only get one letter a week, you know. You've been here five days and there are your eleventh and twelfth apiece. What's your secret?"

"Have sisters," Peter rasped, standing and looking over Edmund's shoulder, left hand at his throat.

"Here, these are yours, Pete. Lucy starts writing and mailing hers before we leave home so that we'll have something once a day," Edmund explained. "Mum and Dad have sent two to each of us so far. The others are either from various cousins or Professor Digory, who we lived with during the war. Hey, this one's for both of us-It's from Aminda!"

"It's about time!"

"Aminda?" Roger asked, a coy smile on his face. "Does one of you have a girlfriend that you haven't told your best mate about?"

"Naw," said Peter. "Met her at the station. Good friend of Lucy's."

"How old? Is she pretty?"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Sixteen, honey brown hair, bluish green eyes, about...this tall." He brought his hand up to Peter's nose.

Roger's smile grew and he whistled. "When do I get to meet this friend of Lucy's?"

Peter shoved him with his shoulder, breaking open Lucy's newest letter. Edmund had already completely finished his and was starting on one from Eustace. Roger frowned. "Wait…" he said slowly.

"What?" Peter asked.

"Doesn't Susan write to you?" he asked. "You said Lucy and your parents did."

Peter and Edmund exchanged looks. Without a word, Peter turned and brought a single letter from the desk in the corner and handed it to Roger. "This is Susan's only one so far. Got it two days ago," he said stiffly.

"We have had a sort of...falling out with my elder sister," Edmund explained as Roger scanned the letter. It was about three-quarters of a page long, addressed to the both of them together, and seemed very distant. As if she was writing a report rather than a letter to her brothers. He glanced at the three pages from Lucy in Edmund's hands and frowned more deeply.

"Must have been some row," he said. The Pevensies had always seemed very close, in his eyes.

"It was," Peter said simply, going to sit on his bed and finish his mail. Edmund stared at the floor, sighing deeply.

Roger rubbed the back of his neck, feeling as if he'd awakened some sort of black mood. "Sorry I brought it up," he muttered at nothing in particular, almost wincing at the awkward situation he'd forced upon himself. "Well, I just came by to deliver the mail. Do you two want to join me in a football free-for-all on the commons?"

"You know ball playing is forbidden on the commons," Edmund said, glancing up.

"Your point being…?"

Peter snorted. The younger Pevensie shook his head. As Roger shrugged and turned toward the door, it happened again. Edmund watched, concern turning quickly to fear as Roger's eyes unfocused and clouded over. The boy swayed on his feet with a small gasp and reached forward to steady himself on the door. He missed and fell forward, just barely catching himself on the doorframe. "Roger!" Edmund exclaimed, racing over to catch his friend before his knees buckled.

Peter was off the bed in an instant, helping Edmund half-support, half-drag Roger into the nearest chair. "Roger, what exactly is your definition of 'all right?' " he asked, partly mocking and partly angry. "Or are 'all right' people frequently prone to fainting spells?"

"I didn't faint," Roger protested. He was pale and a little shaky, and he kept rubbing his eyes.

"You need a doctor," Edmund insisted. "This is not normal, Rog."

"I _don't_ need a doctor. I just need to rest, that's all."

"Roger Young!" Peter snapped, the command no longer coming from a school boy but from a High King. "You've been weak and unsteady ever since we boarded the train. I demand that you tell us what on earth is wrong with you—right now!"

Roger winced and sighed. "About a week and a half ago, I fell off the roof of my house, all right? That's it."

"What?" Both Pevensies said.

"A rather nasty storm hit and we were tossing tree branches off the roof when I lost my balance and fell. I hit my head on a rock when I landed. I was unconscious for about four hours. Mum and Dad took me to the hospital. They said I had a concussion. I was fine afterward. I'm still just a bit shaky. That's all."

"That isn't all," Edmund said. "It can't be. Concussions don't work like that. Either it's not a normal head injury or it's not the injury at all."

"Have you ever had dizzy or fainting spells before?" Peter asked.

"Your eyes go funny right before, did you know that?"

"Pevensies!" Roger snapped, getting more than a little fed up at all the coddling. "Calm down. I bumped my head. It's not the end of the world!"

"Roger, please," Peter said gently, squeezing his friend's arm. "We've...we've lost friends before. Any type of injury to anyone scares us now. There _is_ more to what's happening with you than just a bump on the head. What other symptoms do you have?"

Roger's face softened and he sighed, pulling his hand away from his eyes. "I've been..._seeing_ things," he said brokenly, as if admitted some terrible secret. "I haven't told anyone else. It's...not bad, and I'll be sure to let you know if it gets any worse. I'll see a doctor, even. I promise."

"Seeing things?" Edmund asked, kneeling to examine Roger's now-clear eyes. "That's definitely not right. What kinds of things are you seeing?"

Roger frowned, still looking unwilling to say anything at all. "It isn't like hallucinating," he said slowly. "That's the thing. It's unlike anything I've ever heard of. I'll just be walking along normally when everything I see will sort of...slip out of place...and instead of seeing, say, a teacher in front of a classroom, I'll see some sort of goat man thing in front of a room in a castle. Or a lion on a rock slab."

Edmund looked sharply from Roger to Peter. "What else have you seen?" he asked.

"Just now, a battlefield," Roger whispered after a moment of silence. "Right after the battle was over. So much blood..." he looked sick just thinking about it again. He hesitated, as if embarrassed to go on. "It's worse when I'm with you two. Everything slips so much more often, and it becomes grander. Every once in a while, when someone says or does something...I see you both in medieval tunics and golden crowns. Older, greater, dangerous." He buried his head in his hands. "What is _wrong_ with me?"

Peter was now sharing the same surprised, calculating look as Edmund. He subtly bent his head and sniffed at the air above Roger's bright red hair. "_Aslan_, Ed," he muttered, awed. "He reeks of Him. _He's_ been graced, too."

"As _what_?" Roger asked, glancing up again.

Edmund gulped. "Roger," he said slowly. "We've got something important to tell you."

* * *

**Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers —Mystic Lover of the fairytale, Mighty Lion, Lucy of Narnia, Amarwen, Hikari, Bartholo, Narnian Princess, and Selenaria. Thank you also to all you great people who put me on an author/story alert—stop by and drop me a line! **

**Now, off to bed. I have solo/small ensemble contest in, like, fourteen hours. (Yikes! Totally not fully prepared on either piece!) I'll be sure to tell you how it goes. **


	5. Beneath You

**For Disclaimer and Information, see the first chapter. **

_

* * *

Dear Aminda,_

_We were very pleased to finally receive your first letter. We know, we know, it had only been a few days, but we'd never met anyone like you before, and it was hard to be patient. The visions you've described to us..._

Minda smiled happily as she read. It had been just as hard for her to wait for a letter as it had been for them. The boys, she was quickly learning, were slow writers.

It was nearly their third week of school and she was adjusting well despite the stuck-up attitudes of many of the girls there. Lucy had quickly become her closest friend, and she often wished they were rooming together rather than Lucy with Susan and she herself with Heather, one of Susan's "little friends," as Lucy called them. She sighed at the boy's utter gushing over her dreams. She supposed it had been far too long since Peter had had a hope like she offered.

The letter captured her attention once again, closer to the bottom. _Naturally, I'm the one writing this out. Peter is far too fidgety to write much more than a sentence at a time, even here. I had hoped that I would stop becoming his scribe once we'd left Narnia, but I suppose some things never change. Personally, and without Peter ever reading this, I must thank you for coming into our lives at the time you did. For Peter's sake. I'm afraid we would have lost him as we have lost Susan. Yes, Susan has fallen away, even if Lucy chooses to believe otherwise for the time being. Unfortunately, Peter also still believes it would not take much to bring her back. I have no such delusions. _

"Ouch. That's less that Just, there, Majesty," she muttered to herself.

_As a matter of fact, I do not think that anything short of death or true love could ever return Susan to her Gentle state._

"I take that back. 'No such delusions' was _more _than Just."

_In other news, believe it or not, we have found another such as yourself who has been Graced of Aslan, albeit not in the same way. _"Now that's interesting." _He is none other than Peter's and my closest friend, Roger Young. We have known Roger for nearly four years now. He recently received a head injury sent by Aslan that gives him double vision. Every once in a while, the world will "slip" out of place and give him a glimpse of Narnia. For now, these slips give him dangerous dizzy spells and headaches, but we believe he will stop having them when he gets used to the Sight. It took some...rather drastic measures to convince him of the existence of Narnia, but he's coming around very nicely. He's actually much more at peace now. I believe the headaches were worrying him. _

"Drastic measures...I don't even _want_ to know."

_That's all the news on our end. We hope to find both you and Lucy well and happy. And Minda-I do so hope you will join us at our home in Finchley for winter break. I have a feeling it will do us all good. Peter especially._

_With our greatest love,_

_Edmund Pevensie_

_Peter Pevensie_

Peter had apparently been forced to sign his name at the bottom, personally. She fought to ignore the fluttering in her stomach as she looked at his handwriting. _Naturally,_ she thought, more to convince herself than to consider the problem. _It would make anyone happy to see the name of the legendary High King of Narnia. _She folded the letter and ran from her dorm, heading to Lucy's. She was sure the younger girl had not yet received her mail, and she couldn't wait to tell Lucy about her brother's friend.

Surprisingly enough, however, Lucy was not in her dormitory. Neither was Susan, but that was to be expected-there was one party or another every night for the elder Pevensie girl. "Lucy?" Minda called softly, moving through the halls. "Lucy, where are you?" She couldn't think of any place the younger girl could be. She had many friends, but she also told Minda when she went to visit them, in case she would be searched for. Minda decided to try the library and headed in that direction.

She didn't get very far. On her way to the library, she passed by a lavatory and paused. There was an indistinct sniffling sound coming from behind the door. For a moment, she fought between wanting to locate Lucy and wanting to comfort whatever girl was crying in the bathrooms. She shook her head and opened the door. It was what a true Narnian would have done, after all, she thought to herself.

What she saw shocked and scared her. "Lucy...?" she asked timidly.

The girl lifted her red, weepy face off her knees and broke out into fresh tears. "Go away, Minda. I don't want to talk to anyone right now," Lucy insisted, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"Lucy," Minda said firmly, walking over and sitting next to the girl. She wrapped her arms around the Valiant Queen's shoulders. "What's the matter?"

"I said _go away." _Despite the words, she turned into Minda's embrace. The older girl allowed her to weep in silence for a few minutes before squeezing her shoulder. The queen took a deep breath. "The other girls in my class..."

"...What about them?" she asked softly.

"...They..."

"Yes?"

"...They're not very nice..."

Minda frowned, rubbing Lucy's arm. "...Are you having problems?"

"No...yes...I don't know."

"Are they making fun of you?"

"...Yes," Lucy said, sobbing again. "I...I've never really been...made fun of before..."

"Naturally," she said soothingly. "Those other girls were more intelligent before now. Once you get older...some girls spend more time on make up and hair and boys than they do on anything else. You're not like that, so you make them nervous. They are beneath you. They know that and they hate it. So they'll want to put pressure on you to change the way you are. Sometimes the only way girls can feel comfortable is to pressure others until they are all the same."

"But...why?"

"Because..." Minda bit her lip. She didn't really know how she was going to answer. Lucy was almost thirty, yes, but she'd never really been around eleven-year-old English girls coming into their teens. How could she explain the mindset so that Lucy would understand? "Their world is changing, Lu. They need stability. Conformity gives them that stability. It's like the dwarves. No matter how hard you tried to convince them that the Witch was evil, some of them continued to support her after her death. They didn't really care about what side believed in what. They didn't want to change their ways, and they felt more comfortable when people felt the same way they did. And you felt more comfortable when they were gone."

"But...the Witch _was _evil," Lucy said, sniffling. "The girls aren't evil."

"No," said Minda, rubbing Lucy's arm. "Just nasty. Come on, and I'll walk you to my room. My roommates out with Susan and you'll never believe what your brothers just wrote me."

They walked back to Minda's room together. The older girl was greatly troubled by Lucy's news, however, and it kept bothering her. She was going to have to find a way to help Lucy defend herself age-appropriately...meanwhile, the other Pevensies should know about this and she knew instinctively that Lucy wouldn't tell them herself. She made a mental note to include that in her letter back.

* * *

Edmund, meanwhile, was having troubles of his own. A few days after Lucy's revelation, he found himself being followed by one of the larger boys in his year.

He frowned and slipped into a smaller hallway, hoping to shake his follower. Instead, another joined him. The king bit back a groan. He really did not want to go through all this again. When another boy joined the growing band, Edmund picked up speed, moving through the hallways at a slow, easy job. The boys behind him matched pace-and another joined.

Edmund broke out into a run, turning the first corner he came to in hopes of losing them. They stayed right on his tail, and gaining. Letting his Warrior instincts take over for a time, he darted down another hall into a crowd, then slowed down. He heard his followers struggle through the mass of boys with a hint of satisfaction. He slowly made his way through the people, heading for the dorm and safety.

He didn't count on there being an intelligent mind in the midst of his stalkers, making the mob take a side passage to cut him off.

As he came out at another hallway close to the door, he was slammed into the wall by a heavy, very angry body. The blow knocked the breath out of him and he gasped a little as he squinted into the dark face of Alexander O'Brian. "Think you're perfect, Pevensie?" O'Brian whispered dangerous, tossing Edmund to the floor in the middle of a ring of boys. "Think you're so _good_ and fine. Haven't you learned yet?"

"Learned what?" Edmund asked quietly, getting to his feet.

"This is _my school,"_ O'Brian said while his goons glowered. "I don't care about who your older brother is. You're my year, you obey my rules. Especially the ones about snitchin'."

"If you're referring to your cheating in Maths," Edmund drawled, watching for the boy in front of him to signal the others, "I haven't told anyone. Yet."

"I'm referring to the cheating in History," O'Brian said. "And my stash under the floorboards that you so happened to find out about. You're going to stop learning my secrets, you hear me, Pevensie? And you're definitely not going to tell any more grown ups about them.

"I'm not?"

"No. And to make sure you don't forget..." he nodded and took a step forward. Edmund felt the boy behind him move forward to punch him and ducked under the fist, hitting the floor in a crab-walk position and kicking his would-be attacker in the knees. The boy fell forward with a groan and the rest of the pack descended while their target was still on the ground. Edmund winced and bit back cries of pain as the blind punches and kicks landed, waiting for O'Brian himself to come closer before retaliating.

He didn't hold out that long. Someone kicked him in the eye. He howled with pain, took careful aim, and kicked the boy in the groin. He didn't wait for that boy to drop, but wrapped himself around the next one's ankles, forcing him to fall and raking his victims face with his fingernails. He jumped the next one, striking with the heel of his hand in the stomach, ribs, and side of the neck. The others backed off a little.

"Hey!" called someone Edmund hadn't hit yet. "That's not fair!"

"No, it's not," Edmund agreed, coming up to him. "It's Just." He lunged his fist into the boy's nose, pulling the punch just enough so it wouldn't break. The boy still sank to the floor, holding his face to stem the bleeding. Someone jumped his back, catching his arms and pinning them to his sides. Someone strong, stronger than Edmund was after having gone so long without training.

O'Brian _did_ have to be the star rugby player.

"Get him now, boys," the ringleader crowed, and the boys lined up and took turns beating Edmund until he thought he was going to pass out. At last, O'Brian threw him to the ground and spat on him. "If you ever pull any of your goody-goody moves on us again, you'll have worse, you understand?" he said, throwing one last kick and leading his injured to the infirmary.

Edmund rolled his eyes as best he could-his left one was quickly swelling shut-and staggered to his feet. He located his dorm, just one more hall down, and stumbled inside, collapsing on Peter's bed and wondering why on earth he'd chosen the high bunk.

* * *

Roger had been coming to the dorm to work on a pet project of his-or wild scheme, as his roommates called it-when he met with the same group of boys. They looked awful. If they weren't bleeding, then they could barely walk, or acted as if they couldn't see straight. Alexander O'Brian, whom Roger did not like at all, was leading the way, a bloodthirsty scowl on his face. The scowl grew deeper as he spotted Roger and, before the Grace knew what was happening, O'Brian slugged him in the jaw, sending him reeling into the wall.

Roger growled and turned back, standing the boy down. "What was that for, O'Brian?" he asked, eyes burning with anger.

"Your roommate fights dirty," the rugby player sneered, leading his cronies down the hallway. "That's just some extra payback."

Roger watched them walk away, trying to comprehend the bully's final words. _Roommate fights dirty..._ they were soldiers, and kings. They wouldn't do that. _Extra payback...extra..._ "Oh, no," he whispered, sprinting to his room and tearing the door open. Edmund was laying on his brother's bed, unmoving and breathing as if he'd cracked a rib. The world slipped again, and Edmund was lying on an empty field with a dagger in his stomach. His knees grew weak. "Edmund!"

The younger boy started, destroying the vision, and sat up quickly, only to moan and fall onto the bed again. "I thought you were Peter," he mumbled. "Can't let him see me like this."

"Save it," Roger said, moving forward and kneeling to better see the boy's injuries. His bottom lip was split and bleeding and he had a black eye to end all black eyes, but that was all that was visible. "I suppose you're rather colorful underneath your shirt right about now," he said dryly.

"If not, I will be tomorrow." Edmund said. "Go away, Rog. I need to think. And sleep."

"No, you don't. Ed, what just happened?"

Edmund blushed. "Embarrassing, is what it is. I wish I was still twenty."

"Embarrassing that you couldn't beat them or embarrassing that you actually fought in the first place?"

"Hey," the Just King said, sitting up again. "I didn't _want_ to fight them. No need to sound like Lucy on a bad day."

"Ed. _What happened?"_

He blushed again. "They jumped me."

"_Why?_"

"I don't know. They just do sometimes. Ever since the beginning of the year. Sometimes they don't have a reason. Most recently it's because I left the Headmaster a note on his desk informing him that O'Brian's been cheating in History and sneaking alcohol into the school and somehow they found out it was me that busted them."

Roger shook his head. "You know, I'm proud of you two for the whole 'Narnia on Earth' stint. Really, I am. But do you have to put yourself at risk like that?"

"I'm not at risk," Edmund argued. "I won't be unless Peter finds out. Peter will kill me."

"For what?"

He held up a hand and began ticking off reasons on his fingers. "For not telling him, for not letting him deal with it, for not letting him help me deal with it, for instigating the fight, for letting myself get caught at a good deed, for not beating them when I had the chance, for not turning them in for bullying, and for not going out armed. And that's if he doesn't beat them up for me and I get my name smeared all over the school because my _big brother_ came to my rescue." He groaned and fell back onto the bed.

The image of Edmund dying on some battlefield while his brother fought on returned to Roger once more, making him shiver. "Peter needs to know."

The younger boy shook his head vehemently. "No, he doesn't. It'll just make everything worse."

"Edmund-"

"Roger! Trust me!"

"...Fine," he said with a huff. "But I don't like this. I don't like it at all."

"You don't have to like it. Just... go with it. I promise I'll tell him if it gets any worse, all right?"

"All right, I guess." Roger sighed.

Edmund sat up. "Thanks, Rog. ...Hey, Rog. Is that a bruise on your cheek?"

Roger brushed his fingers up against his jawbone and winced. "Yeah. Parting gift from O'Brian to you. Did...did you really fight dirty?"

Edmund cackled a little. "I suppose most would call it that. I'm so, so sorry it got you into trouble."

"No problem. I thought Soldiers couldn't fight dirty."

"They can't. It's against their code of honor. But I wasn't a Soldier. I was a Warrior. There's a difference." Roger looked confused, and the other boy smiled. "It's a long story. You'll have to ask Peter."

* * *

Peter couldn't ask any questions when he came in at nine thirty that night and found Edmund already fast asleep on his own bed, because Roger was asleep, too. He could only wonder why they had turned in early when Edmund had promised him a duel that night. He hesitated, torn between letting his brother sleep or waking him to fight. He decided to wake him, since it was the only free night they would have together for the next two weeks. He stepped over to the bunk beds and gently shook Edmund's shoulder. "Ed? Ed, wake up. You _did_ promise, you know."

"Peter?" Edmund said groggily. "What'd I promise?"

"You promised me a fight-Edmund!" Peter gasped and gripped Edmund's chin in his hand as he saw the black eye and bloody lip. "What in Aslan's name happened to you?"

The outburst woke the snoring Roger with an almost comical snort. "Where's th'fire?" he mumbled, glancing around.

"No fire, Rog," Edmund said. "Peter's in."

"Edmund," Peter snapped. "Answer me."

"I walked into a door," he muttered. "What time is it?"

"It's almost nine forty-five. What door did you walk into? That eye looks _awful._"

"Dorm door. I was reading and walking at the same time. Roger saw me."

"Don't drag _me_ into this," Roger mumbled, turning red.

"What was that, Rog?" Peter asked.

"I'm afraid I was looking away at that time," he said, glaring at Edmund. "What are we awake for?"

"I promised a duel," Ed said, clambering stiffly out of bed. "Well, let's go then."

"Are you sure you feel up to it?" Peter brushed his fingers over his brother's black eye. "Your motions are a little off. Did you hurt your ribs?"

Roger stared. He knew the Pevensies were very tuned to each other, but he'd never thought they were _that _in tune.

"I'm _fine_, Peter," he insisted loudly, batting the hands away. "Are you coming or not?"

Peter frowned but nodded, then turned to Roger. "How about you, Rog? Care to come and watch me beat Edmund up despite his cheating?"

The boy raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. "Edmund fights dirty?"

"Apparently he's _allowed_ to. Sometimes chivalry is a pain."

They snuck out of their dorm and around the school gates, coming to a wide meadow about a quarter mile from the school, specifically to a cozy spot under an elm tree. Peter dropped to his hands and knees and dug out the box they had stashed under the tree. He opened it and took his sword, pushing the box to Edmund. "Are you sure you're ready for a sparring match?"

"Never better," Edmund said, stooping to pick up his weapon. Roger grunted and climbed the tree, resting on a low hanging limb well out of the way of their swinging blades. Peter moved in a slow, steady circle around his brother. Edmund did not move except to rise onto the balls of his feet, every muscle tensed and ready for an attack.

"Hey, you guys do know you got a letter from that Minda girl today, right?" Roger called down in an effort to distract one of them.

"Really?" Edmund said. Peter looked too concentrated to notice anything.

"Yes. And I do wish you'd stop using me as a mailman."

Peter swung at Edmund's side. The younger boy blocked without batting an eyelash and swept under the reaching arms to chop at Peter's knees. Peter jumped back, startled at the attack. Edmund leaped away. Roger decided distraction would not affect the fight much and settled down to admire the vastly different styles of each Pevensie boy. As they fought another round, he realized the biggest difference. Peter's attacks were strong and almost dignified. Each move radiated hidden power and discipline. Edmund wasted no unnecessary motion. He was more fierce than his brother, and more to the point. Faster, too, with something dangerous behind. With Peter, what you saw was what you got. With Edmund, there was always something deeper.

They fought for several minutes more. Peter feinted left, then feinted above, and ended up slashing at Edmund's ribcage. Edmund blocked left and up, but didn't expect the second trick. The flat of Peter's sword slammed into Edmund's side, not hard enough to normally cause much damage. Edmund was bruised all over from his previous fight, however, and the strike was enough to send him gasping to his knees that night.

"Edmund!" Peter breathed, sinking down next to his brother and pulling him into his arms. "Why didn't you block, you lunkhead? Are you hurt?"

"Fine," Edmund wheezed pathetically. "Just have to...catch my breath..."

"Fine my eye," the older boy snapped as Roger dropped down out of the tree next to him. He pulled up Edmund's shirt. "I didn't crack anything, did..."

In the faint light, Edmund's bruises were barely visible, making them seem even more haunting. Peter's face darkened. "Edmund," he said. "These marks are hours old. Have you been fighting?"

The younger boy stayed silent. "Ed," Roger said, touching his shoulder in a silent plea to tell Peter everything."

"Ed, look at me," Peter commanded, bringing Edmund's chin up. "You've been fighting, haven't you? And you lied to me."

Edmund looked away and murmured something about Alexander O'Brian. "O'Brian and eight of his cronies jumped him outside the dorm," Roger said, ignoring both glares aimed at him. "One of 'em clocked me for Edmund's...tactics."

Peter turned burning eyes back on Edmund. "Is that true?"

"Mhmm," Edmund grunted, turning red.

"I'll take that as a yes. And you didn't tell me this..._why,_ exactly?"

"It would only get worse."

"...How long has this been going on?"

Tears sprang from a very surprised Edmund as he said "S-since the beg-ginning of the year, more or less. O'Brian's rotten, Pete, and every time I reveal his rottenness..."

"...He's a bully," said the older king bitterly. Edmund flinched. It was very obvious, to him at least, that Peter was spitting angry with him. "And you never said a word."

"It always seemed...I don't know...beneath you." He frowned. How was he to explain that he hated these small signs of weakness more than anything else? That he didn't mind being away from Narnia except for the comparably _little_ things like chain of command, behavioral expectations, and those terribly moments of weakness when he honestly felt six years old again? That sorrow was beginning to creep into his mind, in an entirely foreign and _different_ way than it ever had or would with any of the others? "Peter, can we go back to bed now?" he asked timidly.

He sent a cold glare in Edmund's direction, then silently packed away the blades and led the other two back into the school. He didn't say a word the rest of the night.

* * *

**ARGH **

**First off, no I do not know why the last chapter was posted all in bold, yes it is annoying the heck out of me, yes I am too stinkin' lazy to go back and fix it anyway. This chapter was so long in coming for three reasons. One, I'm busy as all get out. Now things have settled down except for my New Moon Bashing Party on Thursday (Can't wait!). Two, this chapter is unnaturally long. Three, I was struck with writer's block with this story and inspiration with an original story I've been working on for a couple of weeks. May divulge information via PM if asked nicely. But now it's here, hooray! **

**Thank you to everyone who wished me luck in solos/ensembles. My ensemble got a 2. My solo got a 1-, which means I'M OFF TO STATE CONTEST next month, and very excited about that. Had a funny judge. Took the edge off my nerves. **

**And to my reviewers! More than ever for the last chapter. I'm glad my writing is so popular. Shizuku, welcome! I was wondering when you'd pop up. :) ChroniclesofNarniaGoTandSJA, Pegasus7, LucyofNarnia, Selenaria, Mystic Lover of the Fairytale, Hikari, Amarwen, Mighty Lion, and NarnianPrincess, thank you all so much for enjoying the story. I'm glad you think I'm funny. :) Hikari, I think I'll do a _Scene_ on Roger's response, but I'd have to recover a little first. ChroniclesofNarniaGoTandSJA, I reccomend you check out _Masks_ to find out just what happens between Roger and Susan. And to all of you _Masks_ fans, now you might better understand the beginning of the last story when it talks of Roger's Grace. **

**For those of you interested in the differences between Edmund and Peter mentioned here, keep your eyes open for _Odes to a Passing Fancy_, which will greatly expound upon all of the Pevensies during the Golden Age. Including the thought-provoking Battle of Belraid and Ode to Life. **

**/end way-to-long author's note**


	6. Correspondance

**For Disclaimer and Informations, see the first chapter. **  
**Tried to do something a little different in this chapter by telling the story through letters directly linked to the boys and Minda. Time passes in between the letters, and the Pevensie boys are slow writers. It's more convient than saying "Three weeks later..." Blech. Comments on the temporary style are more than welcome.**  


* * *

Dear Peter,  
King Peter,  
Sir Peter,  
To Peter:

Peter—

I know I haven't taken the time to write to you personally yet. I suppose it was just because I don't know you well enough. Well, I know all about you, I mean…here in England. Face to face. We've hardly spoken at all. We shouldn't—

This is not a good way to be starting this letter.

I know I've written to both of you—I mean, you and Edmund—before. I'll continue to write to both of you, too. It's just…I have a problem. Or, more appropriately, Lucy has a problem. I thought I should address this with both you and Edmund at first, but then I recalled a dream I had once about Edmund and Lucy and I decided that perhaps it would be best if Edmund didn't know about this problem at the current time. He might…I don't know…do something hasty.

_Why_ do I feel like I'm doing such an awful job at this?

Look, getting right to the point, Lucy has been bullied by several other girls in her year. They are poking fun at her, calling her names, things like that. She won't tell Susan about it. I don't know why. I've tried to approach the issue with Susan myself, with little success. In fact, I'm not sure if Susan even realizes I exist. Lu needs you, Peter. I mean, I've done my best to help, but when it comes right down to it, she's your sister, not mine. She doesn't understand the girls here. By Aslan, even _I_ don't understand the girls here. If there's a way you could write to her and get her to open up a little more about it, I'm sure it would do a world of good. She desperately needs some kind of release.

Um…I'm not sure what else to say, so I'll go ahead and close now. Thank you.

Yours truly,  
Ever yours,  
Love,

—Minda

* * *

Dear Minda,

Thanks for telling me. I thought there was something off about her letters of late, and it's a load off my mind to know exactly what. I'm not sure what I can do to help her—it sounds as if she needs me personally and that's the one thing I cannot give her—but I will do everything in my power to ease her pain. You will keep me posted if it continues, won't you?

You were right in not wanting to involve Edmund at the present. You see, he's having some issues along the same lines. Only when boys bully, they do it with their fists. It's been going on for some time and he didn't tell me until I forced it from him, something I am not happy with at all. A more truthful statement would be that I am positively livid with him right now. Well, maybe not with him. Partly with him, and partly with the boys responsible. It just isn't fair that two people as wonderful as Edmund and Lucy, and who have done so much good with their lives have to endure the petty remonstrations of a bunch of teenage gits who just want to cause suffering.

You did not do such an awful job in writing that letter. Except for, perhaps, the end. If you don't know what to say, the least you can do is tell me more of what's going on in your life. After all, as you so eloquently put, we hardly know each other. You could use classes, (I already know Algebra, so that's boring. I hate English, but history is a blast.) or likes and dislikes, (don't you hate it when people try to talk to you when you're trying to concentrate, a la Roger while I write this letter? I'm glaring at him now, although you can't see) or people you've met recently, (there's a boy down the hall who has one green eye and one brown. It's quite distracting when he tries to speak to you, as he's one of those people who simply _must_ have eye contact. I believe his name is Harold, though I could be wrong) or even the weather as a topic of conversation. Speaking of which, it's absolutely ghastly here. All gray skies and no sun. How's yours?

I did so enjoy your letter for many reasons and I do hope you will not discontinue writing to me directly, even though there is no purpose for it now.

Yours,

Peter Pevensie

P.S. — _Dear Peter,_ and _Ever Yours, _are quite acceptable greetings and closings, Minnie. I do hope you won't stand on ceremony. Or rather, write.

P.P.S. —Thank you? For what?

* * *

Peter—

I'm glad to know that I so amused you with my last epistle. I shall strive to be as boring as possible in this one for your punishment. Are you aware that the last person who called me Minnie went home with a broken nose, courtesy of my right hook? You shall not be _dear_ to me until you drop that insufferable pet name, as I am neither your pet nor deserving of a name that means _bitter._

Is Edmund all right? You rather worried me when you indirectly said he'd been beaten. Why exactly are you so angry with him? With the other boys I could understand, although I feel nothing but pity and contempt for the girls who continue to attack Lucy. But I'm not angry with Lucy either.

History is a darling subject, is it not? I very much enjoy studying Charlemagne and Rome and the Afghan wars. Algebra should be impaled upon its own minus sign and roasted along with its precious pi. Easy as one, two, three my foot.

I like strawberries and I dislike cream. I like fish, but not to eat. I abhor people who think they are above the rest. Smugness angers me faster than an insult.

I have met no one new recently, as I am too busy trying to find out what to do with Lucy's tormentors. My roommate is Heather Burns, one of Susan's little friends. She's gone so much I hardly know her at all.

The weather here is splendid and I hope we keep it all to ourselves.

Ever yours,

Minda. That's Minda, not Minnie.

P.S. —No, you are not yet forgiven.

P.P.S. —You know…I'm not sure. I guess we'll both find out, won't we?

Dear Roger,

So, you're Graced, too? Would you ever have imagined… anything?

Yours,

Minda

* * *

Dear Minda,

No, I wouldn't have. I was quite blown away by the news. I feel very honored, now. By the way, you've thoroughly confused and flustered Peter with your last letter. He doesn't quite know what to say.

Yours,

Roger

* * *

Dear Roger,

I was as well, the first time I started dreaming. Well…actually, no. I thought they were just dreams. When I _met_ the Pevensies, I was stunned. It was literally as if my dreams had come true.

Is that why it's taking him so long to write back? Tell him I was half joking.

Yours,

Minda

* * *

Dear Minda,

Why are you writing to Peter and Roger directly and not me?

Ever Yours,

Edmund P.

* * *

Dear Minda,

I must admit, the headaches were worrying me. The visions still put me out of sorts. It's going to take a long time for me to get used to them. What I do see is beautiful. Most of the time.

I think it's the other half that's bothering him. He doesn't seem too particularly worried, though he's mentioned selling whatever information you dropped into the last one to Edmund. Blackmail. Don't worry, he hasn't said anything in particular. I think it's been partly worry that he's actually angered you and partly that he hasn't had much time to write. Exams coming up.

Yours,

Roger

* * *

My _Dearest_ _Minnie_,

I dare you to break my nose next time we meet, for bitter shall you be to me forevermore.

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write back. Exams coming up. You know how it goes.

Last time you wrote, you asked me why I was angry at Edmund. The answer is…I have no idea. I am still angry, and I can't put my finger on the exact reason why. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that he kept it secret. Why does he feel he has to hide bruises from me? He never felt that way before. Does he not trust me anymore? Does he think he can handle it on his own? Is he worried about _me?_ I can't tell, and it is both frustrating and painful. I love my brother, and I know he loves me. But all this with the bullies... it just doesn't feel like he loves me as much.

It's stupid, I know. If you have any advice, I could sincerely use it.

How's Lucy? Is her situation improving at all?

I prefer studying the more ancient subjects myself. Charlemagne is wonderful, yes, but so are the Viking expeditions and the Saxon wars. You know what really is a terrible, terrible subject? Science. They didn't teach science in Narnia, you see, and I'm awfully slow at it. It's miserable.

I've never appreciated smugness in a character, either. Some of the worst were the Archenland ambassadors our third and fourth years on the throne. Every time they arrived on our doorstep, I wanted to bash a head into the wall, and I'm still not sure whether it was theirs or mine. I value honesty—perhaps one of the other reasons I'm angry with Ed—and sincerity. My favorite animal, after a lion of course, is the swallow. There were never any foul-tempered swallows in Narnia, and their flight patterns here are so similar.

We stole some of your sunshine whether you like it or not. So there.

Yours truly,

Peter

P.S. —I _am_ sorry for making you angry, if you really were.

P.P.S. —But how will we know when we find out what you're thanking me for if you have no idea what thanks I deserved in the first place?

* * *

Dear Roger,

I hope you recover from your headaches soon. I'm sure in time they'll wear away. Do you suppose there are any others graced of Aslan out there?

Tell Peter that if Edmund finds out, I'll break both their noses.

Ever yours,

Minda

* * *

Dear Edmund,

We were talking about _you_, of course.

Not really. If you would like me to write to you individually then I'll just cut the group letter, shall I?

Ever yours,

Minda

* * *

_Dear_ Peter, then,

I shall consider being lenient, but only if I am bitter in private.

Have you considered any legitimate reason you may have with being angry with Edmund, or are you too full of yourself consider any but a selfish one?

Forgive me, dear Peter, for I do not mean to be rude, but think this through, please. For Edmund's sake. If he told you, what could you possibly do? Help him? Perhaps. If you had not your own schedule to contend with. You cannot follow him everywhere. Fight his battles for him? Hardly. Even if he did allow it, you know very well what kind of talk that would cause at the school. This isn't Narnia. Chivalry does not exist among schoolboys. Tell a professor? _Honestly_. Life is miserable enough at a boarding school with your classmates on your side. Imagine it with everyone against you.

Edmund had only two options. One, to tell you. You would be angry and hurt and desperate to help him, but unable to make a move. That inability would further anger, frustrate and hurt you. Both of you. Two, not to tell you. You still would be able to do nothing, but you would have been spared the bitter emotions accompanying the knowledge of his injuries. Which is he to choose? Which would _you _choose, Peter? The one that would cause your Brother and king pain, or the one that would not?

You asked me for advice, and now I shall give it: except that sometimes, your sibling's care is out of your hands. Except that they are all more than capable of taking care of themselves, much as they still need you. Forgive Edmund for guarding your heart as closely as he has his own. Offer him your support. I have a feeling that's what he needs more than anything else.

Ah, and what does one say after something like that?

Lucy is doing well. I think her situation has improved somewhat since our discussion. She comes to me, when it gets too much to handle. She still needs you, and with winter break so quickly approaching, she'll have you and Edmund.

If you should need any help in Science, I'd be more than happy to assist. I have written to my parents regarding a possible extended visit to the Pevensie house, and they have given me permission to come over whenever I like, so expect me often.

I do not believe I have visited any council chamber of your third year. You shall have to tell me about it on holiday. And I have met someone new recently, whom I liked. One of the sisters here bears a striking resemblance to a teacher you had in Narnia, or so Lucy says, in personality as well in looks. She will not tell me the teacher's name, and while I have _seen_ someone who looks similar, I have never heard them speak. It is quite frustrating. My favorite color is blue, for mirth and depth. It has never seemed sad to me in any way.

I believe our loss was your gain, for our sun is gone and in its place are grim skies and the coming of cold. Yet another thing to keep watch on Edmund for. Or had you forgotten that winter break does mean winter is approaching? Last I saw, he still suffered with the cold.

Ever yours,

Minda

P.S. —Forgive me if I have offended you. I only want what's best for you both.

P.P.S. —Thank you for _living_, Peter. For now, that is enough.

* * *

Minda,

You _have_ been talking about me, haven't you? I can tell, because Peter's made up with me. He was rather emotional, but I must admit I needed the support desperately. Thank you for whatever it is you said. Or didn't say. Or suggested. Whatever you did. Peter wouldn't have reacted that way if someone hadn't intervened, and Roger swears on his Sight he didn't say a word.

Just writing to say thank you. Don't bother responding to this letter, as we'll be home again before I have a chance to receive one.

See you at Christmas for sure,

Edmund P.

* * *

**I sort of feel like God's telling my school district to let us out early. First our middle school burns down, then (JUST HAPPENED TODAY) our Freshman history teacher dies in a motorcycle wreck. I hate to say it, but the only people who will be very broken up are the members of the football team he couched as he was an awful teacher, and idiot who believe Europe was a country, had just divorced his wife and whose only child is two. It's still terrible. **

**For those of you who asked about my solo, it's vocal, because the only things I can play are the recorder, badly, and my voice, apparently very well. State is next week (yikes!) and I think I'll do well if I can get over a sinus infection. **

**Now, to reviews! AceofLove, welcome and I'm so glad you've enjoyed the story. Bartholo, Shizuku, NarnianPrincess1992, Hikari, and LucyofNarnia, thank you so much for reviewing the last chapter and I hope you like this one as well! **


	7. The Third Grace

**For Disclaimer and information, see the first chapter.**

* * *

"Hey, Pevensie! Ed, over here!" Roger gestured over to his compartment of the train, then walked toward him when the boy didn't show any sign of hearing. "Edmund, I've got you a seat saved over there," Roger said, catching his arm. "Where's Peter?"

Edmund turned and grinned. "He's just in the-"

"Hey, Pevensie!" came a dark, forbidding voice as a large hand landed on Edmund's shoulder and swung him forcefully around. Alexander O'Brian was there, three of his friends behind him.

Roger went tense. It was well known around the school that Roger himself was not much use in a fight—probably the only reason they were starting something with Edmund when there was someone three years older than them standing right beside him. He could have cursed his uselessness then, reckoning he was good for maybe one punch before he went down and knowing that Edmund needed a good deal more than that.

It surprised him, however, when Edmund merely sighed. "You again, huh?"

"Yeah. Me," O'Brian said, tightening his grip on the boy's shoulder until his knuckles went white. Edmund didn't respond. "Just wanted to remind you of that you obey my rules."

"No, I don't," he answered blatantly, boredom evident on his face. "You don't run the school, Alexander, and it's time you learned that." He spoke a little more loudly than was absolutely necessary, but his tone of voice and use of O'Brian's first name was reminiscent of an adult berating a very young child. His eyes darted to the door to the corridor.

Dark rage made O'Brian's eyes dim and cheeks flush. "And just who's gonna teach me? You?"

"Well," said a familiar, equally bored voice by the doorway. "I'm sure I could provide a lesson or two."

The bully froze and turned to see Peter Pevensie leaning casually into the doorframe, flicking his strawberry-blond hair out of his eyes. "I understand you've been messing with my brother?" he asked, a hint of ice entering his gaze despite the indifferent tone.

O'Brian released Edmund rather quickly. The bullies glanced at each other, obviously growing fearful. It became worse as the Pevensie brothers took a deep breath together, seeming to smell that fear and feed off of it. "Yeah, so what if I have?" O'Brian said nervously. "Can't you trust your brother to take care of himself?"

"Of course he can," Edmund said with a snort. "'Cept that one on four…or more…just doesn't seem quite fair, does it?"

"Have a care, scum," said the older Pevensie. This time his voice was oozing with bitter contempt. "Next time there shall be _two._"

They didn't move for several seconds. Roger grinned maliciously and stepped forward, leaning in as if to tell a secret. "That would be your cue to leave," he whispered. "Before they _really _get angry, hmm?"

All four of them took off at a dead sprint, running down the hall and back into their compartment. Roger laughed uproariously and the Pevensies grinned and as he pushed them back into his own compartment. "That was _incredible,_" he said as they sat down. "But I don't get it. I thought you didn't want Peter helping you out. What about your reputation? There'll only be more fights if they think you a coward, Ed."

"I know," Edmund said lightly. "But that was before winter break."

"And what exactly happened over this mysterious winter break?"

Peter grinned at Edmund. "Well…"

* * *

Peter and Edmund left the train, waving their farewells to Roger as they did. Peter had his hand on Edmund's elbow as the walked down the steps, a tribute to the end of their argument. "Where do you think they're hiding?" he asked, glancing about, his blue eyes eager.

"Do you think they would have actually waited for us?" Edmund said wryly. "Perhaps Mum and Dad came early."

"What, and left us to walk home? Oh, look—there they are!"

"Lucy and Susan?"

"Lucy and _Minda._ I don't see Susan anywhere. Girls! Girls, over here! Edmund, what're you—"

But Edmund was already gone, running as if he'd burst from a cannon. Peter rolled his eyes and ran after him. Lucy had already turned and spotted them, spreading her arms out wide to accept Edmund's embrace. The two practically collided with each other. Edmund wrapped her in his arms and lifted her into the air, spinning her around as they both laughed.

Minda stood slightly off to the side, smiling at the reunion. Peter caught up and gave her a mischievous grin. "Hello, Peter—what are you doing?" Her tone became guarded as a playful light came into his eye. Before she could move, he swept forward and picked her up as Edmund had Lucy, ignoring her shriek of surprise.

"What on _earth_ was that for?" she asked as he put her down again. Her face was burning cherry red.

"To thank you for writing me, mostly, but do I really need a reason? Now that we've found each other, you're practically family." Edmund and Lucy came up to them and nodded in agreement.

"Once a friend of Narnia, always a friend of Narnia," Edmund said, snatching the Grace away from Peter and hugging her as well. She threw her head back and laughed while Peter danced Lucy in circles around them.

Someone cleared their throat, forcing the friends and siblings to disentangle themselves. They turned to find Rachel and Corbin Pevensie, looking down at them with mock-accusatory expressions. "Excuse us, but do we happen to be looking for some normally well-behaved children. Seen any around?" Corbin said.

The Pevensie children stepped forward to embrace their parents. "Oh Mum, Dad, I've missed you so much!" Lucy cried.

"We've missed you, too," Rachel said. "Who is your friend?"

Minda dipped her head to them. "Aminda Carlton, Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie."

"The _Minda_ that all three have written us about?" asked Corbin with a raised eyebrow. Minda blushed again and nodded. "Very polite. I suppose you'll be wanting to come over?"

"Corbin, stop it," Mrs. Pevensie said, slapping his arm playfully. "You're welcome with us anytime, child. But where's Susan?"

"Went straight to someone's house…" Lucy said, concentrating. "I think it was Heather, but I'm not sure."

"We'll have to ask around. I _do_ wish she'd call us first. To home, then?"

The children nodded and ran toward the car. They all piled in, Peter at the far window, Lucy almost on top of him, and Edmund and Minda squished together in the remaining space. All four were brimming with talk of Narnia, but didn't dare say a word in front of Rachel and Corbin. Instead they shared some terse conversation between themselves and the adults while Peter stared out the window, clearly far too deep in thought to really notice anything being said.

He held back a sharp gasp as they turned down an older, more sparsely populated street. "Who lives there?" he asked, pointing at a house on the corner. It looked huge—at least two stories—with a Victorian front and forest green siding with white trim. Ivy trailed up all the walls and the dilapidated old fence surrounding the huge yard.

"The Thomson House?" Corbin said, glancing out the window. "No one's lived there in years, Peter. I think old Mr. Thomson still owns it, but he moved out ages ago."

"It'd be cute all fixed up," Rachel said.

Lucy turned to look at the house. "I think it's beautiful now."

Peter could still only stare. Minda and Edmund shrugged at each other, unable to see past the others' heads.

"I believe our son has been smitten, Corbin," Rachel said, noting the expression on Peter's face.

"What do you mean?" Edmund asked as his father chuckled.

"Sometimes places or things have a way of sneaking up on people," Corbin said, not taking his eyes off the road. "And when you least expect it, they attack. They get into your mind and you can't get them out. You fall instantly in love and you'll never be happy unless you're there. Everyone has one. Your Uncle Rick was smitten by Wales, for instance, and that's why he only comes to visit once a year. He can't stand to leave."

"I haven't been smitten by anything," Peter said, tearing his eyes away from the old building and blushing.

"For my mother, it was a rocking chair," Mrs. Pevensie said with a nostalgic sigh. "Father saved up for ages to get it for her. Afterward, she smiled brightest and most often whenever she was sitting in it."

The adults exchanged wistful memories the rest of the ride home. Minda listened raptly, eager for any kind of story, while the others tried to doze, having heard them all before. When they finally arrived at the Pevensie home, the children couldn't get inside fast enough. Lucy took Minda's left hand and Peter took her right—she couldn't help but flush, and didn't know why—and dragged her into the boys' room before she could thank their parents for the ride. Edmund laughed and followed after them, stopping by Lucy's room for an extra blanket first. Susan's room was down the hall—she'd insisted on getting her own a year ago.

The four spent hours recounting memories and dreams of Narnia and Aslan and the Eastern Sea and everything else in their true home. After a particularly funny story regarding a rabbit and a giant, Minda excused herself and practically _fled_ from the room. The three Pevensies fell back, still chuckling.

"I haven't felt this good in a long time," Edmund said, stretching with a groan.

"I'm so glad Aslan lead us to Roger and Minda," Peter said with a small smile. "I don't know what we would have done without them."

"Lost faith," Edmund said quietly, an odd expression on his face. He still had not told Peter about the sorrow beginning to creep up on him. This afternoon had helped.

"Peter," Lucy said, a sly grin slipping across her features. "Do you really like Minda?"

"Of course," he said, confused. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I think she likes you."

"Why wouldn't she?"

Lucy rolled her eyes and rolled onto her side. Peter stared at the ceiling in confusion, trying desperately to puzzle out the meaning behind Lucy's words. "I don't get it. Why would—"

"Never mind, Peter. You're both as thick as bricks," Lucy said with a sigh. Edmund snickered.

"But Lucy—"

"_Never mind._ I'm sure you'll understand later."

They sat in silence for a moment. Peter fidgeted. "What's taking her so long anyway? Where did she go?"

"Why don't you just go find out?" Edmund asked. "And quit shaking the bed. It's like sitting on an angry bear."

"How would you—ah…never mind. I don't want to know." Peter stood amid Lucy's giggles and left, no doubt looking for their wayward friend. A short while later, the doorbell rang.

Edmund glanced at Lucy. "Were you expecting anyone?"

She shook her head. "It's probably one of Susan's little friends."

The sound of their mother's voice and an unrecognizable one drifted in from the living room, then their father's voice joining it. After a few minutes, they heard their names being called. Edmund and Lucy exchanged looks again, leaving the room and coming to living room.

Rachel and Corbin grinned and motioned for them to step forward and greet the strangers sitting on their couch. "Here are two of our children, Edmund and Lucy. Lucy's eleven and I think Edmund's about your age, Myrtle. Children, this is Mr. and Mrs. Hanover and their daughter Myrtle."

"Hello," they both said pleasantly. The Hanovers all had rich, dark hair and large brown eyes. Myrtle's skin was a shade or two tanner than her parents, and her features were a little more delicate.

"Hello," she said back, equally politely. None of them were sure of what to do.

"We've just moved here," Mr. Hanover explained to the Pevensie children, and both of them immediately liked the way he spoke to them—not talking down, but not talking as if to two adults, either. "We live just up the road from your home, although I understand you…four?...attend a boarding school. Myrrh will be going to the public school here in Finchley."

"Oh," Lucy said after an uncomfortable silence.

"Now, I understand that you must have other places to go, but I really must insist that you have lunch with us," Mrs. Pevensie said.

"Oh, we really couldn't—" Mrs. Hanover started.

"Nonsense. It would give the children a chance to get to know each other."

They agreed to stay, and Lucy and Edmund swallowed back bitter disappointment. Having Myrtle around meant no more stories.

Peter and Minda walked back into the living room and froze when they saw the crowd. Peter subtly removed his hand from the girl's shoulder and smiled through his grim demeanor suddenly every inch the High King. "Hello. Sorry, Mum, Dad, I didn't hear the bell. Who are our guests?"

"This is Mr. and Mrs. Hanover and their daughter Myrtle," Mr. Pevensie said.

"And you two must be Peter and Susan?" Mrs. Hanover said, glancing at the two of them incredulously. Minda bit back the urge to laugh; she looked nothing like any of the Pevensies.

"No," Peter said. "I'm Peter, and this is Aminda Carlton."

"A friend," Minda said, smiling and shaking hands with the strangers. "I live across town and go to school with Lucy and Susan."

"Susan's home, by the way," Peter said. "I think she slipped in without anyone noticing, but she's had a disappointment of some kind at Heather's house and isn't quite ready to see anyone yet."

"Oh, dear," Rachel said, frowning a little. "I'll go talk to her later. Why don't you three run along and get better acquainted?"

"Yes, Mum," Peter said. He silently lead the way back into the hall.

"This is the boy's room, Myrtle," Lucy said cheerfully as they approached. "I'll show you my room later. It's too small for all of us to fit comfortably."

"I see," Myrtle said.

The boys sat on Edmund's bed and the girls on Peter's, looking at each other incredulously. "Well," Peter said, taking the other's silence as a cue. "Are you enjoying Finchley so far?"

"Very much," she answered. "I haven't got a chance to do much exploring. We did pass by an excellent sledding hill on the way into the city."

"The one by the river?" Edmund asked, grinning when she nodded. "We know of it."

"Perhaps we can go sledding some time," Lucy said joyfully.

"Perhaps," the quiet girl said and the children fell silent once more. All were wracking their brains for something to talk about—school was out of the question, since they'd be attending different places, and Myrtle was so new that it would do no good to talk about the city.

"…Would anyone like to play a game?" Edmund asked. "I've a deck of cards over by the bookcase…Myrtle, would you mind grabbing them? You're closest."

"Sure." She slid off the bed and over to the untidy bookshelf. As she reached for the cards, a book caught her eye. "That's something you wouldn't expect to see in a boy's room. Are either of you fans of Dickinson?"

Peter's ears turned red. Edmund coolly nodded. "We all love most poetry."

"I love anything written down," she said absently. "May I…"

"Go right ahead."

She plucked the book from the shelf and rifled through it while the others left their seats and gathered round her on the floor. "My personal favorite is 'Afraid? Of whom am I afraid?' It always seems so powerful." She stopped and blinked at the page. "Odd. I've never seen this one before. _The darkness falls so swiftly/over hill and mountain high;/the night blows gently over plains/and stars caress the sky._"

The Pevensies snapped to attention. Minda looked at them. "What is it?"

"Would the next line happen to be _moonlight shall pierce the ancient trees?" _Lucy asked, growing pale.

Myrtle nodded. "And then _the breeze shall stir the grass._ I thought I had read most of Dickinson's published poems…" she looked up. "Why, whatever's the matter? You've grown so pale."

Minda looked down at the page. "But…that's not the poem written here. _I can't tell you but you feel it—/nor can you tell me/Saints with vanished slates and pencil/Solve our April day._"

Myrtle grew very red and turned away. "Oh…I must…I m-must have been mistaken."

"That was an _Ode,_" Lucy breathed.

"_Ode to a Narnian Dusk,_" Edmund muttered_. _"One of Cotton's Earth And Sky Cycle."

"What's an _Ode_ doing in your poetry book?" Minda asked, shooting a curious look at Myrtle.

"Can you still see it there, Myrtle?" Peter asked, nodding at the book.

"I never meant… I mean…"

"It's all right. You can trust us."

"…Yes," she said firmly. "Yes, I can. You know the poem?"

"Yes, and the poet," Edmund said. "Does…this… happen often?"

"Yes, and it's horribly frustrating. I'll be really getting into a book when all of a sudden the words change themselves around a bit and I'm reading some story I've never heard of before about Lions and Battles and Kings and Queens and…didn't your parents say your last name was _Pevensie?"_

"Yes!" Lucy cried. "You've read about us, haven't you? Narnia's real, you know. We were sent there three years ago through a wardrobe, and—"

"Lucy, slow down!" Peter cried, an expression of delight and excitement flooding his features. "Myrtle…start at the beginning and tell us everything."

* * *

"…So she's Graced, too?" Roger asked, grinning.

"Yes. Although apparently her Grace is a great deal more annoying than your Visions or Minda's Dreams," Edmund said.

"We all spent the break together, telling Myrrh about…well…everything she didn't already know and showing her around the city," Peter said. "She's promised to write us as long as we write her, too."

"After that I started thinking more about Narnia, and what would have happened to the bullies there," Edmund said. "Myrtle helped. Even if I weren't a king, I would've stood up to them, and Peter with me. I realized it was foolish to try to fight O'Brian alone."

"Huh," Roger said. "That makes three of us."

"Yes," said Peter. "And I have a feeling that you're not the only ones."

* * *

**There are three big reasons why I have been absent the past...long time. Number one: School, finals, last choir concert, farewells to the seniors, and general School-Ends-Blues. Number two: My computer shut itself down and didn't turn back on for three days. Number three: I did mention that I was a radio junkie, right? Decoder Ring Theatre ate my brains. Ninety-six half-hour long episodes later and I'm _finally_ ready to write. **

**Anyway, thanks for your patience and thank you to last chapter's reviewers! Britta, BabyBeaver, grahamcracker (the dialogue's my favorite part, too, although I think this chapter's might be a little stiff.), kissoftheblackrose, Bartholo, Selenaria, LucyofNarnia, Mighty Lion, and NarnianPrincess.  
**


	8. Complications

**For Disclaimer and Information, see the first chapter.  
**

* * *

Lucy eagerly ripped open the letters from Peter and Edmund, eyes sweeping over them. Every once in a while, she would laugh or sniff and wipe her eyes.

"Aw, Lu," Minda said. She was laying on her stomach on the Valiant Queen's bed—Susan and Heather were both at another party. "Surely you don't miss them already. We've only been back at school for three days."

"I can't help it, Minda," she said, smoothing a crinkle out of the letter. "Don't you miss them? Or…_Peter,_ more specifically?"

Minda blushed lightly. "Who're those other letters from?"

"That was an expert change of subject, that."

"It was, wasn't it?"

"You need diplomat lessons."

"That's beside the point. Who are they from?"

Lucy smirked at her friend and glanced down at the names. "Ooh, this one's from Myrrh."

"Already?"

"Mhmm. It's to both of us. Here." Lucy tossed the envelope to Minda, who opened it and scanned the letter within.

"Aw, public school only just restarted yesterday, lucky girl," she said. "Wants to know if our classes are any harder than hers…she's got a list here… and it seems that she's found the Story of Queen Swanwhite in one of her textbooks and has yet to discover what the article's really about."

"What a bother. Have you dreamed of her?"

"Mmm, I don't think so…who was she again?"

"Clearly not. Here's a letter from Mum and Dad…hullo, what's this?"

"What is it?"

Lucy held up an envelope. The writing on the back was very rushed and hardly legible, as if the writer had been struck with a great terror or overwhelming fury. "It says it's from Samuel Peterson, and he goes to Peter and Edmund's school. I don't know any Samuel Peterson. Has Peter or Edmund mentioned him to you?"

"No," Minda said with a frown. "Open it."

Lucy did so. "It's just three words—'who are you?' I should ask the same."

"How did he even get your address if he didn't know who you are?" Minda asked, peering forward to look at the letter. "It is addressed to Lucy Pevensie, isn't it?"

"Yes. Odd."

"Odd and kind of scary."

"What should I do?"

"I don't know. It's never happened to me before." She frowned for a moment. "What would you do if you were Queen?"

"Write back," Lucy said. "But what on _earth_ would I say?"

Minda shrugged. "Just sit down and write, I guess."

With a sigh, the girl pulled a piece of paper out from her desk and grabbed a pencil. "I suppose it would be too much to put a _dear_ in front?"

"You're Queen Lucy the Valiant, Lu. Answer as you see best."

She stared at the piece of paper a few more seconds, then bit her lip. "I don't feel Valiant just now," she said.

"What do you mean?" Minda rolled off the bed and stood behind her friend's chair.

"I don't know. I just think it's something about English atmosphere," Lucy said. "It kind of…I don't know…compresses everything. Here…"

She wrote a few sentences and held it up the Minda. "'To the one who calls himself Samuel Peterson, greetings.' How aristocratic. 'In regards to your previous correspondence, I should like to know with whom I am dealing before I deign an answer.' Why the Court Tongue?"

"It's just easier, especially when dealing with something that has the upper hand."

"Ah. 'If you should like to make my acquaintance, I must first learn where you learned my name and address, as well as the manner of your request. With much regard, Lucy Pevensie.' In other words, you tell me who you are first and I'll tell you who I am."

"In layman's terms, yes," Lucy said with a giggle. "I'll send this off right away."

* * *

_Dear Edmund, _

_I must confess; we've hardly known each other a few weeks and I miss having you and your family around. Whoever could have guessed such a group of people could bond so tightly when faced with a common ally in the great Aslan? Thanks again for accepting me as Graced so readily. _

_How's school going? Mine's been absolutely dreadful, and it's only my first day back. A dull, difficult school is only made worse when every time you try to do your homework, a page of ancient history from a country that shouldn't exist appears before your eyes instead. I'm quickly learning to love maths—the numbers don't change. _

_How are Peter and the other Graced you mentioned to me? Roger is his name, right? I should like to meet him. Perhaps someday we shall have all the Friends of Narnia together in one place. _

_Edmund—I had a rather pointless question that I never got the chance to ask over winter break. How exactly do you four manage birthday? Do you include the fifteen Narnian years or just the English ones? How old do you consider yourself? Or Lucy, who's turned eleven, what, three times? Do you have separate celebrations without your parents, or—_

Edmund didn't get to finish reading at that moment. His concentration was broken by the door bursting open. Roger staggered into the room, leaning heavily on Peter's shoulder, blood dripping from his nose.

"What in _Aslan's_ name!" Edmund cried, leaping off of Peter's bed and towards the two boys. On closer inspection, the Just King saw that their friend's left eye was swollen shut and his shirt was torn at the sleeve. "What happened to you?"

"A majority of things, apparently," Peter said gravely. "I haven't gotten a straight answer out of him quite yet."

"Just need…to catch my breath…" Roger gasped. "World's…spinning…"

"Easy, Rog. What can you make out, Pete?"

"Apparently O'Brian's gang had just finished with him," Peter said grimly. "Figured if they couldn't get to us, they could target a weaker link."

"Hey…I heard that."

"But he usually just runs," the younger king said.

"I heard _that_ too."

"There's nothing wrong with running, Rog," Edmund said. "I do it all the time. Or did, at least. Why didn't you this time?"

"Shift," the boy grunted, clutching his head. "Bad shift. Lasted about fifteen seconds. And…I think I might be developing a small problem…"

"What problem?" Peter asked, grabbing the first thing he could find—one of Edmund's shirts—and holding it up to his friend's nose.

"_Hey_, that's _my_ shirt!"

"Save it, Ed. We know very well how to get bloodstains out of cloth. What did you see, Roger?"

Roger pinched his nose to stop the bleeding. "Dance. Winder ball, I think. All the spinning made me even dizzier. They jumbed me in the biddle of the vision. I couldn't see them at first, and by the time I could, it was too late to fight or run."

"Well, I suppose it could have been worse," said the High King, leaning back and shaking his head.

"Oh, id gets worse," Roger insisted.

"How?"

The boy looked up at the brothers. His face was pale, making his hair look an even brighter red than usual. He looked absolutely ridiculous with Edmund's shirt clutched to his bleeding nose and such a somber expression. Despite the serious face, his eyes were more alive than they'd ever seen before. "I dink I'm falling in lub wid your sister."

Edmund and Peter looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Roger turned as red as his hair. "I'b _serious,_ mades," he said, exasperated.

"Oh, clearly," Edmund said while Peter gasped for air. "Tell me, when did you discover this? You don't even know them. You're thinking of a different girl."

"No, really, Ed, id's Susan. I can't stob dinking aboud her…"

"Come _on,_ Rog. You've only seen them, what, _three times_?"

"I'b—shoot—" he pulled the shirt away from his face and let his nose run. "I've seen them a lot more than that, you're forgetting. I have an _average_ of one to two visions an hour. Do you know how many opportunities that gives me to see your sisters for what they really are? I've seen Lucy treat hundreds of people for everything from arrow wounds to the common cold to madness. I've seen Susan hit a target at eight hundred paces with only two seconds from drawing the arrow out of her quiver to firing time. I've seen _you_ two clodheads dancing with them at balls and laughing secretly at them at political functions. I've seen them at their best and their worst. I've seen all _four _of you weeping, shouting, praying, laughing, dancing, sleeping, fighting, bleeding, and _dying, _and it's not something I'm about to joke about or mistake. I've seen _you—every side_ of you— you remember that, Edmund Pevensie and learn to _take me seriously._"

Neither of the Pevensies were laughing now. Peter looked grave. Edmund looked as if he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. What Roger had said—it was an avenue of the Graces they'd never thought about before.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Roger," he said timidly, flushing and staring at his shoes. "I guess this whole Graced thing is going to take more getting used to than I thought."

"Same here," the Grace muttered back, smiling weakly and clenching the shirt around his nose again. "Sorry about your shirt."

"So," Peter said, leaning back. "You think you're falling in love with Susan…you have heard about her _recently,_ haven't you?"

Roger sighed. "Yeah, I know. But thad's nod the Susan I mean."

The High King sighed. "No, you mean the Gentle Queen. Roger…she doesn't exist anymore."

"Maybe nod now. Bud sobeday, she'll be back. Sobeday, jusd you waid."

Lucy glanced at the pile of mail in her hand and did a double take. Her mysterious caller was a fast writer. She opened the envelope and pulled out a much neater sheet of paper than the last one.

* * *

_To one Lucy Pevensie, apologies._

_I never should have sent that letter. I'm sorry. I was tired and frustrated and desperate for answers. I regretted sending it just minutes after doing so and I can only hope you didn't take me too seriously. I'm sorry if I scared you. Just forget this ever happened. _

_Many regards, _

_Samuel Peterson_

She frowned. How could she simply forget? She had to get to the bottom of this. A couple of hours later, she sat down at her desk and began to write again.

_To one Samuel Peterson, protests. _

_How can I simply forget? You can't send a girl a cryptic note you evidently never meant to write in the first place and expect her to ignore it. Just who are you and how did you get my address and name? What answers were you looking for? _

_I'm not angry, and I got over being scared pretty quickly. Now I'm just curious. Please, write back. _

_Many returns, _

_Lucy Pevensie

* * *

_**I just love summer...so much time to write, so much muse flying around, so much sun in the sky...I wish some of that sun would find it into my room. It's freezing in here. **

**People have been asking me a lot of things lately, so how about a quick FAQ?**

**Q: **Did you write the Narnian poem?**  
A: **Yes, all of the Odes that show up in my stories are my own creations. Some of them were written specifically for these stories and some are adaptations of poems I've written in the past. If this is the case, I'll try to find a way to get the poem somewhere where you can read the whole thing if you other poem belongs to Emily Dickinson. I am not her.

**Q:** Can you get more Susan in these?  
**A:** I'll do the best I can. Unfortunately, about 90% of Graced is set during the time that Susan is a jerk. I'm trying to accommodate by adding extra Susan in Scenes and Odes for those of you who read more than this story, but I'm just not sure how often she'll be here.

**Q:** Are you a senior, or had friends who are seniors?  
**A:** No, I am a junior. Or was. Last school year. But I'm not a senior yet. Junior and a half. Yeah, let's go with that. No, I'm not in denial. I don't know what you're talking about. I have about five very close friends in this year's graduating class. It was hard seeing them go.

**And while we already have the author's note going double-overtime, how about something I've been meaning to say for a while? All those little errors that I'm sure are blaringly obvious to some of you—my overagitated self included—are the result of two years of NaNoWriMo speedtyping habits and my own stupidity. I say this in the nicest way possibly, dear fingers, but occasionally you suck. Because of this I've been thinking about getting a beta. Two questions for you guys: Should I, and if I should, how would I go about doing that?**

***sighs* Now that that's out of the way...**

**I had an outpouring of new readers this week! Greetings to Alambil and thank you for your kind review. It made me feel all warm inside. And greetings to jjjc, who also devoured Masks in record time. New readers, don't be left out of the loop—go check out the rest of my stories. It's a circular series, so you can read anything at any time. A big thank you to my other stupendous reviewers: kissoftheblackrose, Eavis, Hikari, Shizuku, bartholo, LucyofNarnia, Lady Eleanor Boleyn, NarnianPrincess, Hiddenfilly, Mighty Lion, Mystic Lover of the Fairytale, and last but not least BabyBeaver! What a haul! You guys are the greatest—keep reading!  
**


	9. The Fourth Grace

**For Disclaimer and Information, see the first chapter.  
**

* * *

" '_To one Lucy Pevensie, further apologies._' Well, at least he's a polite creep."

"Minda, seriously. Read it, please. Something about this whole affair is just…off."

Minda sighed and turned her attentions back to the newest letter. " '_I suppose I do owe you some sort of an explanation, but I really don't know what to say. After all, like you said. I don't know you, and you don't know me. I don't know how I learned your name. It just came to me. Stuff like that happens all the time, and it's driving me crazy. When your name and address popped up, I just figured you might know what was going on. So I wrote you. I shouldn't have, and I'm sorry. But I did.' "_

"What does he mean by 'popped up?'" Lucy asked, frowning at the girl in front of her.

"I don't know. Hang on, there's more. '_I guess I might as well ask, though, since I've already gotten us in this mess. Have you ever just gone along in your life, no worries, not a care in the world, when suddenly something comes up in your mind…like a distant memory you can't exactly place? Something that you know you should know, but don't? Well, that's what's been happening to me. I remember hazy things sometimes, as if I saw them in a dream. I think of words or conversations that I don't remember having.'_"

"Hmm…that sounds eerie."

"Doesn't it just? I get that way sometimes, but I can usually go back in my dream journals and figure out where I saw it at." Minda scratched her head. "I've never felt like I've had the conversation before."

"It does sound rather resoundingly Narnian in nature, doesn't it?" Lucy answered, grinning wryly.

"You don't think this boy is another Grace, do you, Lu?"

"I'm not sure, but he might be. What's the rest of the letter say?"

" '_The worst part is when I say things…I don't mean to say them, they just come out. And when they do, I feel…different. Sometimes I say things or see things and I don't remember saying them until someone asks me why I said it. Things get into my head. They bother me and pester me until I feel like I'm going to pop. That's why I wrote the letter. Something was bothering me—I can't even remember what now—and then your name and address came up and did the same thing until I just couldn't take it anymore. _

'_I know how strange and unnerving this sounds. Thank you for taking the time to read and answer my letters in any case. I can understand if you never want to write back. I probably sound like I'm going crazy. Sometimes I think I am. But writing you helped. For a little while at least. _

_Many thanks,_

_Samuel Peterson.' _That definitely sounds Narnian in nature. Lucy, what are we going to do?"

The young Queen tapped her pencil to her chin, staring off into the distance for several moments. She took a deep breath, snatched a piece of stationary out of her desk drawer, and started writing. The two girls remained silent until her letter was finished. She handed it over to Minda after signing it. "What do you think?"

Minda looked down and read quickly:

_To one Samuel Peterson, schoolboy, from Lucy Pevensie: Student, Sister, Dancer; many greetings. _

_I have an idea of what may be happening to you. I'm going to write down several phrases. I want you to write back to me and tell me how many you recognize. _

_By the Lion_

_Aslan's Mane_

_Many greetings between you and the dawn. _

_Another Belraid_

_Whistling Triumph_

_Poet's Fancy_

_By the Table_

_Lion's Paws_

_One Bright Star_

_Capturing the Morning_

_Aboard the Dawn-Treader_

_Greet the Dusk with Grace_

_Let the Sun Set_

_Another Season of Winter_

_The Witch's Legacy_

_Walk in the Prints of the Lion_

_Cloudy days bring life-giving rain_

_By the King's Sword_

_By the Queen's Bow_

_Arrow's Tail_

_Dance in the Dewdrops_

_Onward Home_

_Returns, _

_Lucy Pevensie_

Minda chuckled. "I see. Only one who knows of Narnia would understand this, but only a Friend of Narnia would know what they mean."

"Yes. It's a sure-fire way to see if he's Graced or not. Should I write the boys about him?" Lucy asked, taking the letter and sealing it in an envelope.

"What for? If he's not Graced, it would just be a waste of postage."

"I suppose you're right." She sighed and addressed the envelope. The only thing left to do was wait.

* * *

_Lucy,_

_Yes, I recognize all of those. I've used them before, but I don't know why or what they mean. How do you know them? _

_Regards, _

_Samuel_

Lucy grinned. He was another Grace…or was he? The other's abilities were rather straightforward…they saw things, they read things, they knew stories, they knew Aslan. There was something different about this one.

She scuffled around a bit for another blank paper and wrote quickly, almost furiously.

_Samuel, _

_I know exactly what's happening to you, but it's far too much to explain over a letter. Find my brothers—Peter and Edmund Pevensie, or Roger Young, a friend of theirs. Find them and tell them Lucy told you you were Graced, with a capitol G. Tell them everything you know. They will make everything clear. _

_In sudden, sisterly love,_

_Lucy Pevensie

* * *

_

"Need me to carry anything, Roger?"

"Any way you can help me in maths, Rog?"

"Heading back to the dorm early tonight?"

"Pevensie!" Roger shouted, face red with anger, black eye pulsing. "Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of walking myself to the next class without incident!"

"You haven't exactly been able to all week," Edmund pointed out.

"Honestly, Rog, I don't know what you're upset about," Peter said, dodging a second year. "Us hanging around is the only thing stopping you from getting jumped again. And it's not like you have a reputation to keep."

"No," he answered. He turned a corner and headed for the library. "But I am rather tired of being mollycoddled. It's my own fault for not trying to fight back, and you know it."

"We did offer you lessons," the High King muttered.

"Maybe later. In a month or so. Now will you please leave me alone?"

Peter sighed and looked at Edmund. The younger boy studied his friend's face for a moment, then nodded. "Fine, then. We'll probably be—"

"In the history room, yes, I know," Roger said, shooing them away with the hand not carrying overdue books. "If O'Brian tries anything during free hour, that's where I'll run. Happy?"

"As happy as we're going to be."

"And Pevensies? I understand that with your whole country being gone you need something or someone to govern and protect with your very lives if necessary. But could you please focus your attentions on…a first year or a tree or something?"

Peter laughed. "Sorry, Roger. We'll try our best, honest."

"Thank you," he called, disappearing into the library. He turned in his books, ducking his head at a disapproving glare from the librarian at the due date, and sauntered back towards the nonfiction section. Roger scowled at the shelves and started scanning for books on Homer. Finding what he was looking for, he checked out again and started for the cafeteria. There was a flash of light and color as he turned down another hallway, the vision of a king and queen out riding. He paused, catching his breath, and continued walking, a small smile creeping over his face. Edmund and Susan. They were older, happier…maybe even taller. And Susan was beautiful. A blush rose into his cheeks as he pictured her face again. If only she was still the Gentle Queen…

He heard footsteps behind him and turned, wondering if one of the brothers had decided to tail him after all. It wasn't a Pevensie. It was one of O'Brian's cronies. He groaned, cursing his luck, and sped up, ducking down another hallway in order to lose the follower. It didn't work.

Making sure there were no adults around, Roger broke out into a run. The other boy followed, and another joined him. The Grace was chased through three or four more halls before he darted through an open door just out of their sight, hoping to throw them off.

Another boy, a couple of years younger with fair skin and sandy hair, was leaving that room at the same time. They crashed, sending Roger's book flying and the boy's unopened letter into the corner. They both fell, landing in a tangled heap on the floor.

"By the Lion, watch where you're going!" the boy cried, shoving Roger's shoulder and pulling himself to his feet.

"Why don't you watch it, stupid prick," Roger snapped back from the floor, in no mood to be polite. He grabbed his book as the boy took his letter and left, mumbling under his breath. Roger stood and peered out the door. The boy was turning down another hallway. His tormenters had disappeared. He sighed and dusted himself off.

"Stupid, senseless, blind—" he began, then froze. "Wait a moment…_by the Lion?_ Who was…" He ran back out into the hallway, following the strange boy's path.

The boy was nowhere in sight, and no one Roger talked to had seen where he'd gone. _Pevensies,_ he thought, stunned. _Got to find the Pevensies…could there be another Grace?_

"There you are!" he burst, seeing the two Pevensies between the history room and the dorms. "I've got to talk to you!"

"What is it, Roger?" Edmund said, quickly closing the distance between them. "Not the bullies again—"

"No, no! I've just run into a boy who used the phrase 'By the Lion.' Is there any way this is possible?"

Peter's eyes lit up. "Not unless he were Graced—Rog, did you find another one?"

"Yes…no…I don't know. I don't know his name, or really what he looks like. I just know he said 'by the Lion.'"

"Well, that's helpful," Edmund said with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. "So there's another one in this school, somewhere."

"He has light brownish hair if that helps."

"It does narrow it down to half the school rather than all of it."

"Edmund, be nice. Anything else about him spring out at you?" Peter asked.

"He's rude, and he's young. Twelve, maybe."

A bell rang. "Aslan's Mane," Peter muttered in frustration. "We'll talk about this later, all right?"

"Later" turned out to be between dinner and bedtime, as none of them had any free time the rest of the day. Roger talked about the mysterious boy while the Pevensies did their homework, only falling quiet when Peter suggested Roger do his homework, too. They were just finishing up and getting ready for a midnight duel when there was a knock on the door.

"Oh, now what?" Roger said.

"I don't know. Where either of you expecting anyone?" Peter asked. The other two shook their heads. The older boy frowned, walked over, and opened the door.

A young boy with large hazel eyes stood in the doorframe. "Is this Peter and Edmund Pevensie's room?" he asked nervously.

"Yes," Peter answered, raising an eyebrow and moving to let Edmund and Roger see their guest. "Are you looking for my brother and me?"

"Y-yes," said the boy. "Can I come in? I have…something to tell you."

"Edmund," Roger hissed. "I think that was the kid who ran into me!"

"Pete," Edmund said in warning. It was a kingly tone they'd perfected in their Narnian days, and Peter instantly gestured the boy into the room.

"And what can we do for you today?" Edmund asked.

"Who're you two?" he said in response, staring at Roger and Edmund.

"The dark, pale one is my brother, Edmund," Peter answered. "The Irish-looking fellow is Roger Young. Anything you need to say to us you can say in front of him, too."

"All right." He took a deep breath. "My name is Samuel Peterson, and Lucy says I'm Graced. Capitol G."

"I knew it!" Roger exclaimed as Peter stared and Edmund fell off the bed in surprise.

"All right," Peter said, clearing his throat. "First you're going to tell us how you know Lucy. Then you're going to tell us all the strange things that have been happening to you. Then we will explain why. I do hope you're not opposed to sneaking back to your room, because we're going to be here a while."

* * *

**Big, huge, enormous thank yous to all of my amazing reviewers. Thank you for sticking with me through the wait. Graced takes a lot out of me. It's very hard and exhausting to write, and takes a long, frustrating time. **

**So! Hello, welcome, and why-flattery-how-dare-you to usually mostly innocent. I very, very much appreciate the deep felt review and compliments, and I hope I don't disappoint you. Thank you also to Hiddenfilly, NobodyLovesAMisfit, Alambil, jjjc, Bartholo, kissoftheblackrose, Lion's Daughter, NarnianPrincess, huffle-bibbin, Shizuku, BabyBeaver, Mighty Lion, bethyhope, Eavis, That Ella Loves, Hikari, and Mystic Lover of the Fairy Tale. *pants* That's a _lot_ of names! Do you people mind if I shorten some of your names? It's kind of exhausting. **

**Also, still debating getting a beta. It will fix my stupidity errors and give me an idea of where I'm going, but it might mean even longer time between updates and what with my sudden lack of inspiration, I'm not sure if that's fair to you all.  
**


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